Ms Suit
by anna-garny
Summary: A girl from Peter's past shows up at the office, and Neal can't help himself
1. Chapter 1

She was a junior agent, from the cut of her suit, and it was the fact that she completely ignored him that piqued his interest.

"Morning, Agent Burke."  
"Mellie?" Peter got up from behind his desk and stepped past Neal to greet the tall girl who had just entered the office.

"Hi, Peter." What started as a handshake quickly turned into a hug, and the girl laughed as Peter picked her up and swung her around.

"I haven't seen you in years, girl! What are you doing in New York?"  
"You didn't hear? I'm with the Bureau now."  
"Get outta town, since when?"  
"Since they recruited me out of the Air Force when I got back from Iraq- I learned Arabic and Dari while I was over there so they gave me my choice of assignment- I elected to join the white collar team here in New York and thought I'd come visit the only other person I know who's insane enough to work for the Feds."

Neal decided that enough was enough, he had been ignored for almost a full minute now, so he cleared his throat and stood up, extending his hand towards the girl.

"Neal Caffrey, pleasure to meet you."  
"Oh, sorry, Neal, this is First Lieutenant Amelia Pearce. Mellie, this is Neal Caffrey, my, uh, consultant."  
"Actually, it was Captain Amelia Pearce when I requested discharge, Peter."  
"My apologies, Captain. What did you do to earn your promotion?"  
"Helped out with some top-level extractions, and did my fair share of escorting Generals around the field offices in the Middle East. One of them took a shine to me, did a bit of mentoring and I went and got myself promoted six months before I was planning on coming home. Had to stay another year before he'd let me leave."  
"Before he'd let you leave?" Peter asked, one eyebrow raised.  
"Oh, don't look at me like that, Peter. He was a General and I was his helicopter-flying chauffeur, he made it sound like I'd pulled a team out from under heavy fire when all I did was scare a few insurgents with a flare gun before bringing his favourite Major back to him in one piece." Mellie smiled at Peter as she spoke, almost laughing.  
"You're kidding." Peter deadpanned.  
"I swear I'm not. It was good fun, though."  
"Only you, Amelia, would call getting shot at 'fun'."  
"Hey, ask my team, I always made sure that we had fun. Look, I've got to run, I don't think I'm actually supposed to be up here."  
"Oh, if anyone questions you tell them I asked for your help."  
"Sure thing. I'll call you later, okay?"  
"Sounds great. It's good to see you back home safe and sound, Mel."  
"Good to see you, too, Peter. Nice to meet you, Neal." She grinned at Burke one last time before stepping out the door again. Neal followed her progress down the hall and his eyes narrowed as she stepped past one of the guys from the antitrust team, he stumbled slightly while craning his neck to watch her walk down the stairs and Neal forgot where he was for a moment, letting out a derisive snort.

"What?" Peter turned away from watching Mellie take a seat at a desk not too far from Neal's to question his 'consultant' on the noise he'd made.

"Oh, nothing, just, how do you know a girl like that?"  
"You'd never believe me if I told you." Peter said, returning to his seat and resuming his scan of the file on his desk that Mellie had interrupted.  
"That good a story, huh?" Neal asked, keeping his tone carefully casual.  
"Oh, it's better than you think, trust me. But I think I'll leave it up to Mellie to decide if she wants you to know how we met."  
"Why's that?"  
"Because once she gets to know you, she might not want to tell you any of her secrets."

Neal frowned at that, before glancing over his shoulder to catch another glimpse of the former Captain, who was now making herself a coffee. He averted his eyes as she looked up towards the office, but when he risked another glance at her she was watching him over the rim of her coffee mug, her expression hidden behind the standard-issue FBI ceramic. Neal narrowed his eyes as she dropped her gaze and moved back towards her desk, pausing to speak with another agent on her way.

"Neal? Are you even listening to me?" Peter asked, snapping his fingers.  
"What? Oh, yeah. Well, this one looks like it might take a while to unravel..."

The next afternoon Neal walked into Peter's office to find his usual seat occupied by none other than the Special Agent Captain Pearce herself. She and Peter were laughing about something, but the laughter died rather abruptly when Neal crossed the threshold.

"Okay, so you tell Elle that I'll be there at seven, okay? And if you're late-"  
"I know, I know, you'll make me sleep on the sofa. See you tonight, Mellie."

Agent Pearce stood up and, with her back to Agent Burke, gave Neal a once-over, from the fedora to the Italian leather shoes, before delivering him a swift wink and leaving the office before Neal had time to react.

Neal sat down and removed his hat, smoothing his hair as Peter crumpled up the paper bag his lunch had been delivered in, and decided to risk the question.

"Amelia knows Elle?"

Peter looked surprised at that, which, for an FBI agent, could be a bad thing.

"Of course she does, Elle's my wife. Why wouldn't Mellie know her?"  
"Well, it's just, she's what, twenty seven?"  
"Thirty, actually, but I'll be sure to tell her you said that. Elizabeth knows most of my friends, besides, Mellie doesn't have many people in New York, so she's coming to dinner tonight."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Peter knew he'd made a big mistake. Now Neal was going to somehow wrangle an invitation and try to extract information from Elle about his history with Mellie, all while in Peter's house, completely unstoppable.

"Dinner, tonight?" Neal asked, and Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if it would be worth the breath to tell his consulting felon to stay at home. After a moment he sighed, resigned.

"If you promise to behave, I'll call Elle and ask her to make it a setting for four, okay?"  
"You're inviting me to dinner, at your house?" Neal's eyes narrowed, suspecting an ulterior motive.  
"Call it intuition, but I have a feeling that you'd show up anyway, might as well be prepared for the inevitable."

Neal smiled at that, making Peter's eyes narrow in turn. "Please don't make me regret this, Neal."  
"I won't. Scout's honour." Neal held up three fingers in a salute and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Caffrey, I know your shoe size, you don't think I know that you were kicked out of the Scouts?"

Neal's grin widened, he stood up and put his hat back on, turning to leave the room.

"Where do you think you're going?"  
"You just invited me to dinner, I've got to find something to wear."

Peter resisted the urge to laugh out loud, biting his lower lip before waving a hand towards his consultant. "Get out of here before I change my mind, and think yourself lucky that we increased your radius."

Neal tipped his hat at Peter and stepped into the hall, skirting around the staff floating between offices and collecting a few items from his own desk before approaching Amelia.

"I hear you'll be joining us tonight, Caffrey." she said, without looking up from her paperwork.

Neal stood there, mouth open, before gathering enough of his wits to begin a response.

"How-?"

"It's the shoes, Neal, nobody else here wears anything that nice. They're a dead giveaway." she told him, setting her pen down and looking up at him. "Oh, and Peter just called to tell me." she mentioned, not telling him that the call was now on speaker, and still connected. "See you tonight."

"Uh, okay." Neal muttered, not quite as smooth as usual. "See you tonight."

Peter, still upstairs, muted his phone so that he could actually laugh. Having Neal rendered speechless was the highlight of his week, and getting to hear Amelia disarm him so effectively was going to be a happy-place memory that Peter visited many times in the future.

Amelia picked up her handset as Neal pushed the button for the elevator, and heard the tail end of Peter's laughing fit.

"Oh, shut up." she told him, which just made him laugh again.  
"Come on, Mellie, it's not often I get to see him so off-balance."  
"What do you think has him so spooked?" she asked.  
"Probably you- and the fact that you're immune to his charms – he's not used to that." Peter told her.  
"Oh, really? Interesting. See you tonight, Pete."  
Peter smiled at the familiar nickname. "See you then, Mellie."

By the time Peter managed to get away from the office it was quarter to seven, and he knew there was no way he would get from FBI headquarters to his home in fifteen minutes. He phoned Elle.

"Hello."  
"Hey, honey, I'm just leaving the office now, so I'll be a little later than I thought."  
"No need to call me honey, Pete."  
"Amelia. Why are you answering Elle's phone?"  
"Because we saw who was calling and she's up to her wrists in a chicken."  
"Fair enough. Well, I'm walking out the door, should be there in half an hour."  
"Sounds fantastic. See you when you get here. Oh, hi Neal!"  
"Caffrey's there already?"  
"Just walked in."  
"I'll be right there." Peter slammed his phone down and grabbed his briefcase, practically running towards the elevator. He might trust Neal to help him with cases, but in his house? That was another matter entirely.

"Hey, Pete!"  
"Don't call me that." Peter told Neal as he closed the front door behind him, dropping his briefcase and hanging up his jacket as Elizabeth called out from the kitchen.

"Is that Peter?"  
"Yes, honey!" Peter shouted back before Neal could open his mouth.  
"Great, you want a beer?"  
"That would be awesome." Peter shot Neal a warning look for no reason other than the fact that he was there, and walked through the lounge into the kitchen to see Elizabeth and Amelia sipping martini's next to the stove.

"Why is he out there by himself?" he hissed at the girls, pulling a beer out of the refrigerator.

"Oh, come on, Peter, like we've got anything worth stealing. Besides, Mellie was just refilling her drink." Elle put a hand on Peter's forearm, calming him as Mellie went back into the lounge. "He's fine, Peter, he's been a perfect gentleman."

"He's always a perfect gentleman, right up until he steals something. That's his angle." Peter reminded her.

"Oh, give him a break. He's been mooning over Mellie since he got here."

That made Peter raise an eyebrow. "Really?"  
"Really. You might not be any good at it, but I know flirting when I see it, Peter."

Peter considered this for a moment, not sure if he liked what direction it might go, before shaking his head a little and loosening his tie.

"Well, Mellie's a big girl, I guess she can take care of herself." He muttered, untucking his shirt. Elizabeth smiled, setting her drink down to give him a hug.

"Is that trust I hear?" she asked, face buried in his neck.

"Oh, no, I still don't trust Neal as far as I could throw him, but I know Mellie's not stupid enough to get involved with someone like-" Peter stopped short- realising that the two people in the lounge had been oddly quiet for the last little while. He pulled away from Elle, taking three swift steps backwards until he could crane his neck to look past the sound system and see the sofa Neal had been parked on when he'd arrived.

It was empty.

"Where the heck did they go?" Peter muttered, scanning the room and seeing Amelia's martini glass on the coffee table next to an empty wine glass- presumably Neal's. Both of their coats were still hanging next to the door, and as he stepped into the centre of the lounge, Peter heard the floorboards above his head groan slightly.

"What are they doing upstairs?" he asked Elle, who shrugged and took another drink before answering him.

"Maybe he's showing her where the bathroom is?"  
"Mellie knows how to find a bathroom."  
"Maybe he offered, Peter, he is a gentleman when he wants to be." Elle picked up his beer and handed it to him. "Can you relax? He's been working with you for almost two years and he still hasn't done anything too spectacularly idiotic. Give him a break."  
"How many of those have you had?" Peter asked, indicating the martini.  
"Only two, and Mellie only had one. Sit down and drink your beer, turn the TV on and stop pretending you're her Dad." Elle gave Peter a shove, dropping him to the sofa and handed him the remote. He sighed, resigned, and turned the game on, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from above his head as he sipped his beer.

Upstairs, Mellie grinned at Neal, who bit his lower lip before smiling back.

"You think we've tortured him long enough?" Neal asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  
"If we're up here much longer he's likely to have a heart attack."  
"Oh, come on, Elle's keeping him occupied. Listen, he just turned the TV on."  
"You know, you're really mean to him." Mellie commented from her perch on the edge of the bath.  
"Hey, you followed me."  
"I asked you to show me where the bathroom was."  
"And I did."  
"You also stayed upstairs and picked the lock once you heard me washing my hands."  
"What can I say, tormenting Peter is the best part of my day."  
"Even when he makes your life miserable afterwards?"  
"He never makes me too miserable, he appreciates my help too much." Neal grinned again, smug and self-satisfied.

Then he noticed the look on Mellie's face.

"Oh, no, you're going to get me into serious trouble, aren't you?" He recognised the look on Amelia- he'd seen it on Alex countless times and even once or twice on Loren. It meant that something was going to happen that, for once, was not his fault - but he'd be blamed for it.

"Whatever would make you think that, Mr Caffrey?"  
"Don't call me that, not with that look on your face, Amelia." She noticed the slight stress on her name at the end of his sentence, but didn't allow it to deter her. She stood up and stepped over to Neal, moving into his personal space.

"I wonder what Peter will think of this..." she asked, before reaching up and scrubbing her hands through her own hair, messing it up and pulling a few strands down over her face. She bit her lower lip, turning it bright red, and popped the top two buttons of her shirt-dress, before hiking up one side of it almost to her waist.

"I'm pretty certain that he's going to kill me." Neal muttered, but he was still smiling.

"You like the idea of raising his blood pressure, don't you?" Amelia asked as he imitated her, loosening his tie to the second button and untucking one side of it before scruffing his own hair up a little.

"Hey, I've got to keep myself entertained."  
"Elle was right, you are a bad influence."  
"She said that? I'll have to send her some flowers."  
"Careful, Peter might get jealous."  
"Come off it, he knows he's got nothing to worry about. Elle's awesome, but I'd be mad to try and steal her away."

Amelia nodded in agreement before pausing to listen - the TV was still on but the volume had been drastically reduced all of a sudden.

"He's coming up here. Quick." Neal hissed, grabbing Mellie and pressing his lips to hers before she could stop him. Three seconds later there was a heavy knock on the bathroom door.

"Neal? You in there?"

Detaching himself from Amelia, Neal pressed a finger to his lips before answering.

"Yes, Peter. Can't I pee in peace?"  
"Where's Mellie?"  
"In here with me, where else would she be?"

There was a pause, and even through the door Neal could almost hear the gears turning in Peter's head.

"Are you being sarcastic, Caffrey?"  
"Why would I do that?"  
"Enough! Is Mellie in there or not?"

She couldn't help herself, Mellie had to answer, to bait him just a little more.

"No, I'm not in here, Peter."  
"NEAL!" Peter shouted, and Mellie was surprised that the door remained intact as Peter subjected it to a number of ferocious thumps. "NEAL! GET OUT HERE NOW!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Hmmm... this might be pushing him a bit too far. How are we going to get out of this one, Mr Caffrey?" Amelia asked as Peter continued his assault on the door.

"You don't think I've gotten out of tighter situations than this?"  
"Not with Peter on your tail – and certainly not with a tracking anklet on."

Neal made a face – she had a point. But before he could consider his options, another voice came from the hallway.

"Neal, Mellie, get out here and stop torturing him – he looks like his head's about to explode."  
"Can you promise that he won't kill me if we can explain this?" Neal asked Elizabeth.  
"I can promise that I won't let him kill either of you, now get out here!"

Neal looked down at Amelia and seemed to realise that they were still rather entwined- one of his hands on her lower back and both of her thumbs hooked through his belt keepers.

"You did this on purpose." he murmured.  
"Hey, _you_ followed _me_." Mellie pointed out, but Neal refused to be swayed by logic.  
"You're still taking the fall for this."  
"What? You want me to tell Peter that I seduced you?" She raised an eyebrow at him.  
"That would help a lot, actually... all you'd have to do is explain that you find me irresistibly charming and couldn't help yourself."  
"I am not making myself sound like some horny sorority girl just to stroke your ego, Caffrey."  
"Sorority _woman,_ actually, and I never went to college, so I wouldn't know."

Mellie sighed, and realised that Peter would likely castrate Neal if he thought that the felon had made the first move – but if it had been she who had approached the con man, well, Peter would give her a severe talking-to and make sure that her opportunities to be alone with Neal would be severely limited for the foreseeable future, but it was better than Neal going back to prison.

"If I take the fall for this, you owe me, big-time."  
"If you take the fall for this I will paint you a Rembrandt."  
"A print will do, thank you very much. Stay here; let me talk to him. And don't try and sneak out the window."

Mellie pulled her hands away from Neal and went to move towards the door, but he pulled her back.

"What exactly are you going to say that will get us out of this without me winding up back in prison?" he asked, keeping his hand firmly planted on her back, holding her bodily against his chest.  
"Let me take care of it, okay? Trust me."  
"If I had a nickel for every person who has screwed me over right after they said that-"  
"You wouldn't have been forging bearer bonds and Peter never would have caught you, got it. Now can you shut up and let me talk to him?"  
"Sure, sure." Neal released Mellie and she stepped across to the door.

"Peter? You know that this door is locked, right?"  
"Yes, Amelia, it locks from the inside, where you and Caffrey are."  
"And it's supposed to unlock from this side, too, right?"  
"Right, what's your point?"  
"Well, it's stuck. Jammed. As in, I can't unlock it, and neither can Mr Never-met-a-lock-I-couldn't-pick in here. It was sticking when I came up to use the bathroom so Neal came in to have a look at it- and now we're stuck."  
"Why didn't you just say that?"  
"I didn't want you questioning my abilities, Peter!" Neal put in. Mellie shot him a warning look over his shoulder but he just shrugged at her, a smug smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

"We thought we could fix it, then you came up here. We knew you'd jump to conclusions if you realised I was in here, too." Amelia explained.

There was silence from the hallway for a moment, before the handle of the bathroom door jiggled a little, rattling the mechanism of the lock.

"Caffrey? You still in there?"  
"Yes, Peter, where else would I be?"  
"Just making sure you haven't tried to climb down the side of my house. Are you sure you can't pick the lock?"  
"I've tried everything I can think of with what I've got available – it looks like one of the teeth has broken off and jammed inside the tumblers."

Amelia turned around and lowered her voice.

"Can you make it look like that happened?" she asked Neal, who just looked at her for a second before turning his attention back to Peter.

"I didn't want to destroy your door – we were going to call for help when you came up."  
"How did the lock get broken?" Peter asked, looking for the scapegoat.

Neal looked at Amelia, gesturing for her to explain herself.

"What do I say?" she hissed. He rolled his eyes and leaned close, whispering instructions, which she relayed through the door.

"That was my fault, Peter, Neal thinks I might have turned the locking mechanism too far at first, then when he was looking at the lock it engaged and we got stuck in here."  
"So how can we get you out?" It was amazing, really, how quickly Agent Burke had gone from homicidal rage to problem solving mode.  
"Get me a screwdriver and we can take the whole handle off, you're going to have to replace it, anyway."  
"Oh, and how do I get a screwdriver to you? Osmosis?"  
"Toss it through the window."  
"Oh."

In the hallway, Elizabeth sipped her martini and watched her husband fret. It seemed, to her, that he was genuinely concerned. Be it for Amelia or Neal, or both, she really couldn't tell. But he was so distracted by the situation that even logic had abandoned him.

"Okay, I'll go get a screwdriver, you sit tight." Peter turned to look at Elizabeth. "We're being conned, aren't we?" he asked her, voice low.  
"It's Neal, and Amelia. What do you think?"  
"If it was just Neal, I'd suspect that he'd spotted something in there that's worth a fortune and decided to take it for himself. But with Mellie in there with him – I almost believe that he's telling the truth."  
"You're trusting him?"  
"No, I'm trusting Mellie. Neal just happens to be in the same room."  
"Go get a screwdriver."

Neal pressed his ear to the door of the bathroom and listened to the two sets of feet descending the stairs.

"Better get that window open, blondie."  
"Better make that lock look broken, blue-eyes."

Neal grinned as he extracted his lock-picking set from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, unzipping the aged leather case and extracting a few pieces, taking the key out of the lock and using a couple of picks to dislodge enough of the interior of the old lock to jam it up almost entirely. He was finished in a matter of seconds.

"That was quick." Amelia commented, having resumed her seat on the edge of the bathtub after she'd pushed the window open and removed the protective screen so that the room was open to the night air.  
"What can I say; I'm good with my hands."

Mellie chuckled, making Neal bristle slightly.

"What?"  
"Oh, nothing, just, you remind me of Pete."  
"I remind you of Peter?"  
"Hey, I've known the guy since I was in high school, he was young once, too, you know."  
"Since high school, hey? How did you meet?"


	3. Chapter 3

Peter felt more than slightly ridiculous, standing in his backyard, barefoot, still in the suit he'd worn home from the office, preparing to throw a screwdriver through his own second-storey bathroom window.

"You ready, Neal?" he called.

The con artist stuck his head out the window.

"Ready when you are, Pete!"  
"Don't-" Peter forced himself to stop, grinding his teeth for a moment before looking up to see Neal grinning widely down at him. "Here it comes!"

Taking careful aim, Peter tossed the green-handled Philips-head up towards Neal, his mouth hanging open as it seemed to hover in mid-air for a moment before Caffrey grabbed it.

"Just get out of there, dinner's almost ready." Peter told him as Neal disappeared back into the bathroom.

"Did he have socks on?" Amelia asked Neal as he closed the bathroom window and turned his attention to the door.

"Barefoot, and he looks grumpy."  
"Maybe I should tidy myself up a little, then?" Mellie asked, glancing at her reflection and re-arranging her hair so that it was less... unkempt. She re-buttoned her dress and pulled the skirt down again, making herself look a lot more respectable.

Neal paused, squatting next to the door handle, and watched her as she opened the bathroom cabinet, extracting a small pink makeup case and digging around in it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, rocking on his heels.

"Fixing my makeup. I'm a mess."  
"You're under duress, you've been stuck in here for half an hour, with me."  
"So I've lost half my lipstick?"  
"People are known to touch their mouths when they're stressed."  
"Well, that explains why I don't have any left, but does it explain why you're wearing my shade?"

Neal's hand drifted to his own lips and he looked at what rubbed off – a smudge of dark burgundy was on his fingertips. She had a point.

"Here, this should get rid of it." She held out a makeup remover pad to him.

He looked down at it before standing up again.

"What if I don't?"

Amelia's eyes narrowed. "What's your angle, Caffrey?" she asked, going to step back and realising just exactly how small the bathroom was, she could only move about half a foot before she hit the sink.

"I think I have some leverage right now." he told her, stepping close and lowering his face so that they were only inches apart. "I think that you don't want Peter to know that you even thought about pretending to seduce me."

"You think he'll believe that I made the first move?" Amelia almost laughed at that.  
"I think he'll believe that I'm not stupid enough to make a move on someone like you, someone he's close to, a friend." Neal told her, smirking. "I think I should just give it back to you."  
"Oh, yeah, that'll wo-" Neal cut Amelia short by kissing her again, running a hand up her arm to catch her by the neck. Amelia's mind went blank, until she realised that his other hand was drifting down her side towards her knee, not-so-discreetly patting her down. She twisted her face away from his and pressed her mouth to his ear.

"My sidearm is on the other leg, Neal, and yes, it's loaded."

She felt him smile, his mouth against her cheek.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, sliding his hand down to brush his fingertips over the butt of the pistol secured to the inside of her thigh.

"Hey, you heard Peter, I describe being shot at as 'fun'. This... this is infinitely more dangerous."  
"You know, we've got maybe thirty seconds before he comes up here and wants to know why I haven't broken us out of here."  
"Better make the most of it."

Neal responded by lifting Amelia off the floor and sitting her on the edge of the sink, and opening his mouth over hers. She struggled not to moan as his hands roved over her body, but didn't hold back her own explorations, taking advantage of his untucked shirt and sliding her fingers up his torso over the smooth skin and around to his shoulder, pulling the shirt further out of his waistband.

He really was good with his hands, in less than fifteen seconds he had three more buttons of the shirt-dress undone and Amelia's sidearm was sitting on the counter, she'd barely noticed him lifting it until she'd heard the clink of metal on ceramic as he set it down.

"What's the hold up?" Peter called from the hallway.

Neal pulled away from Amelia to give him an answer, his hand on her jaw as he turned his head to talk through the door.

"For a start, you tossed me a Philips – I needed a flat-head but you'd gone back inside before I could tell you that."

Peter cursed under his breath. "Fine, I'll see if I can find another one."

"Now who's stalling?" Amelia asked, drawing Neal's attention back to her by twisting her head and biting down on his index fingertip.

"Hey, I'm having fun. Don't pretend like you're not enjoying this, too." Neal moved his mouth to Amelia's neck as he spoke, unclipping her holster and putting it down next to the weapon he'd already relieved her of.  
"I never said I wasn't enjoying this. I just think it's more dangerous for you than it is for me." she explained, making Neal pause.

"How is this more dangerous for me?"  
"Because if Peter ever finds out he'll put you back in jail, the worst he'll do to me is threaten to tell my Dad that I've been in bed with a felon."

Neal stopped entirely at that point, pulling away from Amelia to look her directly in the eye.

"Peter would tell your Dad?" Neal looked... was it scared? Surely not! The infamous con-man Neal Caffrey, suspected of over ten billion dollars worth of art theft and forgery, was scared of the prospect of being sold out to a girls' father?

"I said _threaten._ Peter knows that I'm not in contact with my Dad anymore, but if Andrew found out I was in bed with a felon then he might tear himself away from L.A. for long enough to pretend to play parent for a few minutes."

He let out a breath from between gritted teeth at that, glancing at her wide-eyed, but relieved.

"Thanks for clearing that up."

He kissed her again, and Amelia flicked open two more buttons, dropping her mouth to his neck, then Peter called out to them from the backyard.

"Neal? I got the screwdriver!" Neal cursed under his breath, twisting away from Amelia and biting his lip. She let him go and he repositioned his tie as he stepped over to the window, reaching out one hand and catching the second screwdriver with barely a glance towards the man throwing it.

He stepped back past Amelia, pausing briefly to press his mouth against hers once more, before turning his attention to the doorknob, detaching it in moments and re-buttoning his shirt as he pulled the locking mechanism out of the jamb.

By the time he was back on his feet and had pocketed his picking kit Amelia had put her holster back in place and tidied her appearance up significantly, including re-applying a layer of lipstick and buttoning her own top back up.

A few minutes later Amelia was sitting at the Burke's dining room table, having kicked her boots off at the foot of the stairs while Neal had deposited the remainder of the bathroom doorknob onto the coffee table. He'd risked a glance at Amelia's long legs, crossed at the ankle below the glass tabletop before stepping into the kitchen to help Elizabeth with the dinner while Peter poured some wine.


	4. Chapter 4

Just after 9AM the following morning, at the Bureau's Manhattan headquarters in Federal Plaza, a request form crossed Reese Hughes' desk. After glancing at it for a moment he signed on the line at the bottom, dropping it into his outbox with barely a second thought.

Two hours later Amelia received an e-mail and a text message in quick succession. She elected to open the e-mail first, eyes narrowing as she read its' contents.

"Reassigned?" she muttered, before pulling her phone out to read the text message.

It was from Neal, and it was only one line.

'Welcome to the team.'

She glanced up from her phone and back towards the contents of the e-mail. Somehow, without actually filling out any of the paperwork, a request had been made, by her, to transfer into Peter Burke's team within the White Collar crime unit.

"I don't want to know how you pulled this off, Caffrey, but you're playing with fire." She said, leaning back in her chair.

"Come on, you couldn't even see my feet!"  
"Cologne, Neal. You're the only person here who wears something that costs more than $40 a bottle."

Neal rounded her desk, perching on the edge and tipping his hat towards her.

"Good morning, Special Agent Pearce."  
"Good morning, Mr Caffrey."  
"So, I hear that you requested a transfer onto Peter's team."  
"Funny, I don't remember filling out the request form."  
"Hmm, that signature looks pretty good to me." Neal commented, picking up a plain manila folder from Amelia's outbox, opening it and extracting the transfer request, setting it down so that Amelia could read it.

She stared down at the form, and caught a lock of hair behind her left ear, twisting it as she looked at the writing that filled out the form.

"Master forger Neal Caffrey reduced to filling out FBI forms under false pretences." It was a little creepy, really, seeing words in her own handwriting that she had never actually committed to paper.

"Reason for transfer – oh that's rich. 'The opportunity to work on high-profile cases with an agent like Peter Burke would make an excellent introduction to the Bureau. I believe by assigning me as his probationary officer I will get the best possible experiences as a new agent.' Nice. How the hell did you get this to Hughes so fast?"  
"I came in a little early today, couldn't risk you catching me rifling through your desk, or Peter stopping the approval before Hughes signed off on the transfer."  
"Does Peter know that I've been reassigned, yet?"  
"Check the e-mail, he should have been CC'd in on it."

Amelia looked at the top of the e-mail and saw that yes, the information had been sent to Peter at the same time.

"You better make yourself look happy that your request has been granted, he's coming down."

Amelia looked up to see Peter coming down the stairs, but he slowed down considerably when he spotted Neal sitting on Mellie's desk. Neal leaned down to speak softly, keeping his face hidden from Peter's view by holding his hat to the side.

"Like I said, welcome to the team." He stood up and made his way to his own desk two rows over, setting his hat down and pulling a file out of a drawer, his attention steadfastly focused on the paperwork as Peter approached Mellie.

"How come you didn't tell me about your transfer request, Mellie?" Peter was standing in front of Amelia's desk, hands on hips. He was trying his hardest to look stern, but there was a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth that he couldn't quite keep hidden.

"Well, I wanted to see if Hughes would approve it before I got your hopes up."  
"Oh, come on, Mellie. I saw your scores from Quantico. Between that and your military credentials, not to mention your degree, you could have asked for a transfer to Hawaii and they'd have been hard pressed to refuse you."  
"You know I prefer skyscrapers to palm trees, and I've seen enough sand to last me several lifetimes. New York is the best place for me."  
"Well I'm glad you picked me to be your training officer, Agent Pearce."  
"I hope we can work well together, Agent Burke." She told him, holding out a hand towards him. Peter grasped it firmly, still smiling.

"It's good to have you back in New York, Mellie. C'mon, we've got a stack of case files to dig through – there's got to be something other than mortgage fraud buried in the pack. Neal!"

Neal looked up from whatever he'd been (pretending) to read.

"Yes, Peter?"  
"You're with us, we need to find a good case for our new probie to cut her teeth on."  
"New probie?"  
"Yes, Neal. Mellie's been assigned to our team as my new probationary officer and you're going to help her get to know her way around. Grab that box of files and meet us in the conference room."  
"No problem." Neal's eyes flicked over to Mellie and she grinned at him, unseen by Peter. "Welcome to the team, Agent Pearce." Neal said, before hefting the box of case files from beside his desk and making his way towards the stairs.

It wasn't until a few hours later, when she was digging through her purse, descending in the elevator towards the ground floor for her lunch break, that Amelia realised a few key items were missing.

Namely her wallet, keys and cell phone, she hastily dropped a hand into her pocket and was relieved to find her ID and badge were still inside her blazer.

There was also cell phone in the pocket, but it wasn't hers, and somehow the wallpaper on the phone's screen was a picture of a grinning Neal. Sighing, she opened up the contacts menu and selected 'Nick Halden' from the list, rolling her eyes at a few of the names- Benjamin Cooper, George Donnelly? And who exactly was Steve Tabernackle? At least Nick Halden was an alias that she recognised.

The phone only rang twice before Neal answered.

"Nick Halden's phone."  
"You seriously keep multiple phones?"  
"Now, that would be ridiculous. Lunch?"  
"Where's my wallet, Neal?"  
"Why would I have that information?"  
"Don't play dumb, you're too intelligent to make it work. Where is it?"  
"Meet me for lunch."  
"Fine. Ill meet you in the plaza, I'm getting off the elevator-"

Amelia broke off as the elevator doors opened to reveal Neal standing in the lobby, phone to his ear, smiling from beneath the brim of his fedora.

"-now." She terminated the call with a wry smile, putting the phone back in her pocket so that she at least had one means to communicate with the outside world.

"May I take you to lunch, Amelia?" He asked, offering his elbow.  
"Give me my wallet back, first."  
"Uh-uh. My treat."  
"Oh, really?"  
"C'mon, can't a guy buy a girl lunch?"  
"You know Peter can track you, right?" She asked, indicating his left ankle. Giving up on getting her wallet and phone back Amelia turned on her heel, leaving the lobby stepping into the sunlit plaza in front of the building, considering the nearby options for lunch as she smoothed her jacket.

Wondering how long it would take to walk to Chinatown, she was about to set off towards Canal Street when a strong hand caught her by the elbow, turning her around and leading her in the opposite direction.

"I said, my treat, Mel."  
"Yeah right, Neal. I know how much the FBI pays its' CI's, and I'm not in the mood for a hot dog."

Neal just looked at her, raising one eyebrow, before loosening his grip on her arm and sticking his left hand out towards the traffic coming down Lafayette. Amelia rolled her eyes- he really thought he was going to catch a cab during the lunch hour in front of Federal Plaza?

But that, apparently, wasn't part of Neal's plan. A black, late-model Lincoln town car pulled up and Neal opened the back door, gesturing for Amelia to get in.

She looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"What exactly are you up to, Neal?"  
"Just get in the car, I'll explain on the way."

Amelia slid into the back seat and once he'd closed the door Neal rounded the trunk and stepped into the other side, opening a cooler in the centre of the back set to extract a couple of glasses and a piccolo of champagne.

"Neal, what the hell is going on?"

He didn't answer, instead concentrating on removing the foil from the top of the bottle, twisting it in his hands, and Amelia caught a glimpse of the label between his fingers.

"Bollinger, on our lunch break? Really?"  
"Hey, it was all I could get on such short notice. It's not bad, though."  
"Right." Amelia murmured, smiling in spite of herself, before Neal released the cork from the bottle and poured two servings.

"You know… strictly speaking I'm not supposed to drink while I'm on the clock." She told him as he held one of the flutes towards her.  
"This is your lunch break, besides, you're not going back into the office this afternoon."

Mellie took the glass he offered and sniffed at the bubbly gold liquid, considering her options, when she realised what Neal had said.

"What do you mean, not going back to the office this afternoon?"  
"Don't worry, I cleared it with Peter. Elizabeth somehow found out that you've been assigned as his new probie and she's decided that we're going out for dinner to celebrate. You and I are spending the afternoon scoping restaurants – you haven't lived in New York for the better part of a decade, so we've got to find somewhere that appeals to you."  
"You got Peter to approve an afternoon off the clock so that we could scout restaurants in Manhattan?"  
"Actually, Elizabeth put the idea in his head, I just told him that you'd need some help."  
"How exactly did Elizabeth find out about my reassignment?" Amelia asked him, finally taking a sip of the champagne as Neal's smile widened.  
"She may or may not have been copied in on an e-mail that did the rounds this morning."  
"Wow, I wonder who added her name to the list of recipients?"  
"Actually, it was Diana."  
"Really?"  
"Well, I may have suggested organizing a celebratory dinner, and mentioned that you know Elle personally." Neal tipped his glass back, taking a measured mouthful of the Bollinger as the limo cruised through traffic.

Amelia decided that as long as she was stuck, and had the afternoon free, she might as well enjoy it, and took another sip of the, admittedly lovely, champagne. They began to talk about their current case – a boiler room that they were attempting to shut down – but about five minutes later Amelia realised that they weren't in an area that was particularly known for its' fine dining, in fact they had turned left onto Chambers St and were still heading west.

"Neal, where are we going?"  
"You remember this?" he lifted the cuff of his left pant leg and Amelia glanced down at the blinking green light.  
"Yes, it's kind of hard to forget."  
"You know that I've got a two-mile radius."  
"Except when you're with Peter."  
"Except when I'm with Peter. So we have to scout restaurants within my radius."  
"We're going to June's place?"  
"Yes." He looked at her sideways, and opened his mouth to ask the obvious question.  
"I'm an FBI agent, Neal. I might be new, but everything about your living arrangements is in your file. Which Peter gave to me, yesterday." She forestalled him, taking another sip from her champagne.

Neal nodded, mirroring her actions with a wry grin.

They were about halfway to the loft when Amelia broke the comfortable silence.

"You know, there's this magical thing called the internet that lets you scout restaurants without having to leave the office."

Neal looked over at her, eyes wide, a perfect picture of innocence.

"I didn't think of that."  
"Neal, what did you tell Peter that we were doing this afternoon?"  
"Scouting restaurants for your celebratory dinner."

Amelia raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. "What?"  
"Peter wouldn't let you out of his sight to scout restaurants- he'd make you sit at your desk and hunt through reviews on Yelp dot com. What does he think we're doing?"

Neal smiled that megawatt smile once more and sipped his champagne, but stayed silent. Amelia sighed.

"Fine. But if he asks me what we did this afternoon, I'm going to tell him the truth."  
"You go ahead and do that." Neal told her, leaning back in his seat and watching the traffic pass by through the heavily tinted windows as they turned off the parkway onto West 96th toward Broadway.

By the time they came to a stop on 107th next to June's townhouse they had finished their champagne, and Neal, ever the gentleman, exited the car first to hold the door for Amelia, handed the driver a couple of folded bills that looked suspiciously like Franklins and stepped up to the front door, greeting June with a smile as the maid let them in.

"You're home early, dear." June pointed out, her blonde pug trotting up behind her to sniff curiously at Amelia's ankles.

Neal leaned over to speak to June, lowering his voice, while Amelia squatted down to let the dog sniff her knuckles, scratching him behind the ears as Neal and June stepped across the great room towards the piano.

"I got the afternoon off, we're going to be upstairs researching restaurants, you don't mind if I connect to your Wi-fi, do you?"  
"Of course not, Neal, go right ahead. I'll make sure you're not disturbed."


	5. Chapter 5

"Remind me again why we came to your place to use the internet, when there's a perfectly good high-speed connection at the office?" Amelia asked Neal, who was, for some reason, setting up a chessboard on his dining table.

"Because I have better coffee." Neal told her, turning the board ninety degrees and rearranging the pawns of the white half so that they were all facing the right direction.

There was really no arguing with that, Amelia thought as she shrugged out of her jacket and setting her purse down on the seat of one of the dining chairs before opening the door to the balcony and stepping out to look at Neal's view across the Hudson.

Neal followed her as she stood with her hands on the concrete balustrade, stepping up behind Amelia and sliding his hands down her arms to entwine their fingers. Amelia ignored him, surveying the skyline instead, and thinking of her own view of New York, which was remarkably similar, albeit up on West 152nd, a little farther away from the Hudson. Still, her apartment was a comfortable little two-bedroom that she'd secured through a friend for just $1200 a month, a sum more than covered by her combined streams of income.

"So, this is your idea of taking me to lunch, Caffrey? We've only had champagne so far and that's not exactly a meal in itself." She didn't turn her head to speak to him, addressing the view rather than acknowledging that he was pressed up against her.

"Lunch is being taken care of, it should be here soon." He murmured, pressing his mouth to her ear.

"Great! Do you have today's _Times_?" Amelia turned to face Neal, removing her hands from beneath his and leaning back against the parapet so that they weren't quite touching as much anymore.

"There's a copy on the coffee table, why?"

"They usually have a few restaurant reviews; I want to see what they recommend." Amelia slipped out from between Neal and the wall, ducking under his arm and stepping back into the apartment. She was reclining on the couch, crossing her legs above the knee, when Neal came back in and joined her, settling himself on the other cushion and leaning over to see what sections she was reading.

They'd been sitting there for about half an hour, quietly discussing what kind of place would suit their celebration but would also be within Neal's radius... and allow a group to show up without a booking, when someone knocked on the door.

Before Amelia had a chance to react Caffrey was on his feet, opening the door barely an inch and speaking in hushed tones to the unseen person at the top of the stairs.

Knowing better than to ask what was going on, Amelia turned to the opinion pages and ignored the conversation happening behind her, concentrating on the most recent political scandal and trying not to hear anything distinctive about the second man's voice.

Once the door had been closed again and Neal was extracting boxes from the take-out bag, setting them out on the kitchen table, Amelia folded the paper back up and took a seat opposite him, opening one of the boxes to see what was on the menu.

"What are we having?"  
"Peter mentioned that you like Thai, and I know a fantastic place in midtown."  
"That delivers to the upper west side?"  
"Of course."

"Got anything to drink?" Amelia asked, reaching into the bags to extract the rest of their lunch.

"What are you in the mood for?"  
"Oh, water's fine, I prefer water with Thai, anyway."  
"Okay then." Neal stepped away from the table and filled two high-ball glasses with ice water as Mellie set out the takeout containers out on the table and discarded the paper bags they had been delivered in.

"Where's your computer?" Amelia asked, skewering a piece of grilled chicken to dip in the satay sauce.

"Battery's dead, a friend of mine was watching DVD's on it yesterday, it's plugged in to recharge, should be okay to go soon."  
"We could ask Mozzie for a restaurant recommendation, maybe he knows some place that nobody's discovered, yet."  
Neal's head snapped up at that.

"How do you know about Mozzie?"

Pausing with a piece of chicken halfway to her mouth, Amelia raised one eyebrow at him.  
"Neal, you left before I did last night, remember? Peter took great delight in disparaging you and all of the criminal elements you associate with, at great length, from the moment your cab pulled out."  
"Oh, fair enough." Neal opened the container of Pad Thai and dug in, a comfortable silence descending in the apartment as they ate.

"What about this one? Times food critic gave them four stars." Amelia had booted the laptop up and was on the Times website, looking for somewhere that had a decent reputation to go that night.  
"Radius." Neal pointed out the address and Amelia checked the marked map of Manhattan they had spread out on the table- the address of the restaurant was, indeed, outside of Neal's radius.

"You know, Peter's going to be with us, I'm certain that we can go outside the radius if we ask him nicely enough."

"Weren't you making some comments earlier about him disparaging my behind my back?"  
"That's true, but I got the feeling that it was good-natured ribbing more than anything."  
"Really?" Neal seemed a little incredulous.

"Look, let me call him. I'll tell him how helpful you've been and that we've found a fantastic place for tonight's dinner, but it's just outside your allowable space. The worst he can do is say no."

Neal considered this, and Amelia punctuated her point by tapping a dark blue fingernail against the computer screen.

"Four stars, a fantastic a la carte menu... and a decent steak, too."  
"Okay, okay, pass me my phone."

Amelia handed Neal the small black handset and he stepped out onto the balcony to make the call, closing the door behind him.

When he came back inside Amelia was browsing the NY Times opinion section, reading some of the blog comments, so he took a seat next to her and skidded his chair close so that their legs were touching.

"We should book- or at least, attempt to book a table. How many people are coming?"  
"Um..."

After a few seconds of silence Amelia looked over at him, eyes narrowing.

"Neal? How many people are coming to the dinner?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you. Elizabeth just threatened something rather graphically violent if I tell you any details; but a car will be picking us up at six thirty."  
"Elizabeth threatened violence?" Amelia was impressed, not that Elizabeth was threatening, but that Neal knew her well enough to take the threat seriously.

"Yes, she did. And she also informed me that we have to get you something fantastic to wear."  
"Oh, yes, that's completely possible with my financial constraints."  
"You need to think outside the box. Come on, Peter just told me that while I'm with you I can be considered 'on the job' – radius doesn't apply. Let's get you a new dress."

Amelia smiled at him, rolling her eyes slightly, before getting up and catching her blazer by the collar, going to shrug into it when Neal stopped her.

"Think about it, Mellie, you really want to be lugging all of that into changing rooms?" He was indicating the jacket, but encompassing her service weapon and oversized purse in the same gesture.

"Fine, fine. Do you have somewhere that I can leave this? You don't want June to come in here and find a handgun sitting on the kitchen counter."  
"Here, I've got a safe." He held out a hand for the firearm, and after pausing to remove the clip and disengage the barrel from the slide, rendering the weapon completely inert, Amelia handed it to him in pieces.

Neal smiled back, ever the charmer, and took the pieces from her and strode into his bedroom.

Once he was out of Amelia's sight he opened his closet and separated his hanging shirts and pants to expose a small, black safe. He spun the dial and opened the door to drop the weapon into the back half, glad to have it out of his hands – the man really didn't like guns – and pulled out a sheaf of credit cards. He flicked through them until he found the platinum AMEX that had been issued to Nick Halden while he'd been working for an investment company earlier in the year and pocketed it.

By the time he came back into the dining room Amelia had unbuttoned her dark blue shirt, exposing the black lace edge of her camisole. She went to dig into her purse to extract her wallet, but remembered just as she separated the handles that it was no longer in there.

"Neal, can I have my wallet, please?"  
"Oh, sure. Here." He pulled it out of the interior pocket of his jacket, together with her cell phone, handing it to her with that megawatt smile.

"You're wearing flats." he pointed out as he gave her a head-to-toe once over.

"Yes, I am. We can swing by my apartment before we go shopping and I'll pull a pair of heels out of my closet."  
"Oh, come on. You've just been assigned as a probie to a man you've admired for years, you deserve a whole new outfit."

"Again, with the budget constraints, Neal! I can hardly afford to buy myself lunch this week, let alone new shoes and a new dress!"  
"So let me."  
"Neal, you are not buying me shoes-"

"Yes, right, of course I'm not. Come on; let's see if we can get a cab."

Somehow, without Amelia really approving of it or being aware how it happened, they wound up down on Madison avenue, stepping out of the cab in front of Barneys, Neal pulling her through the double doors at a rate of knots, ignoring Amelia's protests and pulling her into the Co-Op to select a few black dresses from the racks.

A black 3.1 Philip Lim dress later they were walking back towards the entrance when Neal came to a sudden stop, right in the middle of the ladies' shoe department.

"You need shoes."  
"I have shoes."  
"No, you need _those_ shoes." He was pointing at a pair of purple suede Louboutin pumps.

Amelia sighed and stepped over to the display, picking up the displayed shoe and turning it over in her hand, almost dropping it in shock.

"Neal! These are a thousand dollars!"

"But they would look ama-"  
"I'm not spending almost a months' rent on a pair of shoes, Caffrey!" she cut him off.

"Can you at least see if they have your size?" he asked, "You've got to admit, they'd look great with that dress..."

Amelia tried her best to glare at him, but her gaze kept sliding back to the purple suede sling-backs. They were very pretty...

"Ten, or ten and a half, depending on the designer." she muttered, and before she could stop him Neal had vanished, returning a few minutes later with a sales assistant bearing not two but _six_ shoeboxes.

It took every ounce of her willpower to put the purple suede slingbacks back on the shelf, even after she'd tried them on and realised that the reason Louboutin's were so expensive was that they were insanely comfortable, even with a four-inch-heel.

It was the purple crocodile leather heels that truly tested her mettle, though, until she saw the price tag.

"Four and a half thousand dollars!" Amelia couldn't pull them off fast enough once she saw the label on the box.

"Oh, come on, they look amazing!"

"No. I am not spending that much money on a pair of shoes, it's ridiculous."  
"Bu-"

"No."

"Come o-"

"No."

"Amelia-"

"No, Neal. End of conversation. Come on, take me to my place and I'll get a pair out of my closet – I've got a pair of blue TUKS that will look just as good won't cost me as much as a new kitchen."

"Fine, fine." Neal pouted for a few minutes, but by the time they got into the cab on Madison he had begun to look less sullen, and appeared genuinely happy by the time they got across to Broadway, heading uptown. Amelia suspected that he was planning something, but knew better than to question him.

"Okay, okay, you can wear the pumps you've got in your closet; I'll go up to your apartment and get them. Will you at least let me treat you to a half day at the spa? Feel like a manicure, pedicure and a massage?"

Amelia acquiesced to that, knowing that there would be little that she could say to dissuade him. By the time they got back to June's place Neal had sent some text messages and made arrangements – June's granddaughter, the art student – met them in the hallway and whisked Amelia off to her favourite salon before she could object.

"Neal, dear, what are you playing at?" June asked the blue-eyed con man as he mounted the stairs, Amelia's dress in its' garment bag draped over his arm.

"Oh, just trying to make a girl happy, what's wrong with that?"

"You've got the same look in your eye that Byron used to get when he was planning something big. I hope you're not going to get yourself into any trouble, Neal."  
"Of course not, nothing illegal, I promise."  
"Alright, dear, have fun."

Neal called Mozzie as soon as he'd hung Amelia's dress up over the balcony door.

"Mozz, I need a favour."

"Oh, it's been ages since I had a pedicure." Amelia laughed as she got out of the cab in front of the Riverside Drive townhouse, stepping up to the door and making her way up towards Neal's room after greeting June with a smile in the great room.

She felt fantastic- she'd splurged on a dark purple nail polish for both her fingers and toes, figuring that even if she hadn't bought the Louboutins she could have a touch of colour on her, anyway, and the massage had been just what she'd needed after all the stress of the move to New York. She reached the top of the stairs and knocked on Neal's door, trying, again not to listen to the voices on the other side, only to be greeted by a short, unfamiliar man.

"Ah, you must be Ms. Suit."  
"Mozzie, I presume. It's Amelia" she greeted him, holding out a hand to shake, and after staring at her for a moment Mozzie took it, shaking it very briefly before wiping it off on his pants and holding the door open for her.

"I'll stick with Ms Suit for now." Mozzie told her as she crossed the apartment, taking the seat Neal proffered and accepting a glass of red wine from him.

"Nice colour." Neal commented as Mozzie picked up his own glass of wine, watching Amelia through the glass, not quite taking a seat, just hovering in the kitchen.

"I thought I'd treat myself to something pretty – I haven't been allowed to wear anything but clear varnish for years – why do you think I had that insanely dark blue on this morning?" Amelia informed him, holding out her hand to examine the colour in the shaft of sunlight coming in through the window.

"Fair enough."  
"What time is it? I kind of lost track... that masseuse was amazing." Stretching like a cat, Amelia took another mouthful of her wine with a smile as the two men exchanged glances.

"It's four thirty." Neal told her, checking his watch.

"I should probably head home and take a shower, get ready before that car arrives."

"Mel, your dress is here, as are your shoes. My shower works fine."  
"Yes, but my makeup is at home."  
"Like you need it." Mozzie commented, rolling his eyes.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Mr Haversham." Amelia told him, before returning her attention to Neal, ignoring Mozzie's shock at her knowing that name. "You don't mind me using your shampoo?"  
"Go on, there's towels in the cabinet above the sink."  
"Fantastic."

Amelia kicked off her black flats, sliding them over to the edge of the sofa and unbuttoning her shirt, draping it over the arm of the sofa, seemingly unconcerned that she was undressing with an audience. It wasn't until she'd dropped her pants that she remembered she wasn't alone in the room.

"Oh, damn, sorry! I'm used to the barracks..." she explained, hoisting them back up and skipping across the kitchen to the bathroom, cheeks turning pink.

"Want your wine?" Neal asked, holding the glass out as she closed the door. Amelia paused, then opened her palm for him to press the globe of the glass into her fingers, shutting the door with a snap once she had her drink.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

"Well, I suppose I better leave you to it, don't want to be a third wheel and all that." Mozzie commented as he drained the last dregs from his wine glass.

"Thanks again, Mozz, you've been a big help. I owe you one."  
"I'll just add it to your tab, okay? See you later." Mozzie tipped his hat at Neal before leaving the loft, waving goodbye to June as he exited through the front door.

Neal crossed the apartment once the door had clicked shut and opened his closet to survey the contents of his wardrobe, selecting a pale blue shirt and a black tie, his favourite dark blue vest and a pair of grey slacks with a sharp crease.

After he'd organised his own clothes, he turned his attention to the two large boxes that Mozzie had delivered. Thanks to his radius, Neal had been forced to enlist Mozzie's help to acquire a few of the items, he knew better than to risk Peter's wrath if it came to light that Neal had sent Amelia off for a manicure and then broken his radius while pretending they were together – so he'd stayed within his two miles while Amelia was being pampered.

That hadn't limited him overmuch- he was fortunate that there were enough stores within his radius that stocked what he wanted to purchase, and that Mozzie was willing to assist in acquiring the few things that were beyond his reach.

It had necessitated breaking into Amelia's apartment while sending Mozzie to Barneys with a slip of paper to hand to a personal shopper who owed Neal a favour, but it appeared that everything was in order, and he was able to drape the dress he'd selected for her over the back of a chair. He picked up the brown shoebox Mozzie had delivered and opened it, smiling to himself and wondering if what it contained was going to get him shot or laid... the possibility of one then the other certainly wasn't off the cards, but Amelia's sidearm was still secure within his safe, for the moment. He set the shoes down beneath the chair before pulling the makeup bag he had lifted from Amelia's bathroom out of the other box, crossing the kitchen and knocking on the bathroom door.

"Mel?" He called over the running water, opening the door a crack.

"Neal, if you come in here I will tell Elizabeth!"  
"I'm not coming in! I just wanted to let you know that I've got your makeup here, if you want it."  
"How did you- I'm not even going to ask. But if any of my jewelry is missing I am going to cause both of you some serious pain."  
"Understood. I've got my eyes closed, okay?" He squeezed his eyes shut and reached across the small space to set the black leather case down on the edge of the sink.

"Keep them that way! I'll be done in a minute, okay? Did you get me any underwear?" Amelia asked, not entirely able to conceal the hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"Yes, I took care of that. There's a robe on the back of the door for you, and slippers under the counter."

"Of course you did." Amelia sighed, pulling the curtain aside to look at Neal, whose hair was getting damp from the steam of the room and had begun to fall onto his face.

"Caffrey? You can go, now, I want to get out."  
"Oh, right. Sure. Wine?"

"Here." Holding the curtain in front of her torso, Amelia stretched her arm out to press the glass into his hand, Neal smiled and cracked one eye at her, his grin widening.

"Neal! You want me to tell Peter that you walked in on me in the bathroom?"  
"I'll be good!" Neal stepped back smartly, closing the door with a snap and smiling to himself, pointedly neglecting to mention that the shower curtain, though it appeared white, quickly became transparent when in contact with water.

Amelia emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, surrounded by a cloud of steam, her hair piled on her head in a messy bun, a few loose tendrils plastered to her neck, wrapped in the dark blue robe Neal had left hanging on the back of the door, makeup bag in hand.

"I'll need to let the steam dissipate before I worry about my face – I can't see a damn thing in there!"

"That's fine, I've got a big mirror in my bedroom that you can use."

"Sweet. Where's that wine?"

Neal held Amelia's glass out for her, taking a mouthful from his own as she lifted it out of his hand, smiling.

"This isn't half bad, you know."  
"Mozzie picked it out- he said the '98 was too dry, insisted that we get hold of a bottle of the '97."  
"Of course he did. What's that?" Amelia had taken a seat at the table with her back to the kitchen, and was looking at the chair that Neal had set up near the bed, her dress draped over the back of it and the brown shoebox on the floor beneath it.

"Your outfit for tonight. Oh, that reminds me." Neal got to his feet and pulled the lid off the other box, the one still on his bed, and pulled out a pair of black patterned tights, tossing them onto the chair next to the hem of the dress.

"Those will look great under that dress, Mozzie picked them out."

Amelia turned them over in her hand, looking at the black and grey diamond pattern. "He's got good taste."  
"I'll make a note of that and inform him that you approve of his fashion choices. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower of my own."

"Sounds fantastic." Amelia eyed off the pile of clothes Neal had set out for himself on his bed, and he was almost into the bathroom when she asked the obvious question.

"Uh, Caffrey?"  
"Yes, Pearce?"  
"You mentioned underwear."  
"Oh, right. Here." Neal had stripped out of his shirt and kicked his own shoes off, but skipped back over to his bed and pulled out a bag from the bigger box, the unmistakeable Victoria's Secret logo emblazoned on the side of it.

"How the heck did you know what size to get me?"  
"Think about that question while you remember just how close to naked I got you last night. I am an observant person, Amelia. I even know what brand it was."  
"Okay, okay, you're a genius, I just hope it fits."  
"Well, one of them should. I got three, one either side of the size you were wearing just in case. The salesgirl was very helpful." Neal was telling her all of this as he was unbuttoning his pants, dropping them to the floor just a few seconds before he closed the bathroom door, and Amelia closed her eyes, not certain if she was trying to erase the image of Neal's butt covered by nothing but red cotton Calvin Klein boxer briefs, or embed it so permanently in her mind that she'd see little else every time she closed her eyes from then on.

True to his word, there were three bras, two pairs of panties, in the bag. By the time Neal got out of the shower and emerged from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his hips and scrubbing another through his hair, Amelia was wearing the bra and panties, sitting on a chair at the dining table and shifting the pieces on the chessboard with slow, deliberate movements.

"So, you're wearing that to dinner? I can't say I'll object, but Peter might turn a very interesting shade of puce..."  
"No, Neal, I am not going out in nothing but my underwear. But I do have a question for you." Amelia got to her feet and stepped over to the chair that her dress was hanging over, extracting the shoebox from beneath it.

"What exactly is in here?" she asked, holding it out towards the half-naked felon.

"Open it up and see." Neal smiled his megawatt-smile at her and she narrowed her eyes, but he dragged the towel over his face again before she could subject him to the full force of the glare.

She resumed her seat and opened the box slowly, separating the tissue paper that covered the shoes and trying to suppress a gasp, completely failing.

"Neal! What did you do?" She pulled out a purple crocodile skin pump- one half of a four-and-a-half thousand dollar pair she had tried on that afternoon.

"Hey, I got those legally, there's a real receipt in there and everything. You said that you don't have any nice shoes, so I thought you should get one really great pair and never have to worry again."

"Neal, oh my god, Neal, these shoes are worth more than all the furniture in my apartment put together! Why the hell did you spend so much freaking money on me?"  
"Because you're beautiful and don't take any of my crap... and they looked amazing on you."  
"Neal, I can't accept these!"  
"Uh, yes you can."  
"No! This is way too much, Neal!" Amelia put the box down on the table, scattering chess pieces, and dropped the shoe back on top of its' pair. "I've known you, what, a week? You can't spend five grand on a girl you've known a week!"  
"Why not? I've got the money, and the shoes looked great on you. Would you rather I'd stolen them? Because when I saw the price I seriously considered it."

Amelia looked at him, then looked down at her own feet, biting her lip. Her shoulders started to shake slightly, and Neal's eyes widened in shock. Was she crying?

"Amelia? Are you... what's wrong?"

Amelia lifted her head to meet his gaze and he felt ridiculous almost immediately – Amelia's grin was threatening to split her face in half and she was laughing so hard that tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"We're standing here, I'm in my underwear and you're in a towel, arguing because you bought me a fantastic pair of shoes!" She broke into a peal of laughter so infectious that Neal couldn't help himself, he joined in... mainly because he was relieved that he was off the hook.

"Get dressed, Pearce, we can argue about the shoes after dinner." he told her, walking into his bedroom and opening drawers in search of underpants and socks.  
"Yes sir!" She mock-saluted him, standing at attention in the black bra and panties, heels locked together.

"And quit making fun of me!" Neal told her, tossing a pair of socks over his shoulder in her general direction.

"Uh huh, like that will ever happen."

A while later Amelia had applied her makeup with expert precision and was in her dress and stockings, helping Neal with the cufflinks on his pale blue shirt while he admired himself in his full-length mirror.

"You know, I'm sure that June's got a necklace that would look great with that dress." He told her, eyes roving over the square neckline unashamedly.

"I'm sure she does." Amelia murmured, twisting the cufflinks into place and pulling Neal's sleeve straight with what was probably more force than was strictly necessary.

"Want to ask if you can borrow one?"  
"Why would June loan me a necklace?"  
"Because we'd ask! At least get your shoes on and come with me to say 'hi' to her before our car gets here, she'll want to see how you scrub up." Amelia looked at the clock on the bookshelves and realised that it was almost ten past six... how two hours had gotten away from them was a mystery. Admittedly there had been a game of chess played in their underwear, and a little dancing around to Frank Sinatra to get her feet used to the Louboutins, but six o'clock had approached very sneakily.

"Okay, okay, get your jacket, shoot your cuffs and I'll put my shoes on."

Neal did as she asked, slipping the black Devore suit jacket over his shirt and vest, shooting his cuffs to leave half an inch of shirt visible and picked up his hat as Amelia checked her hair once more, holding the door open for her and rolling his hat onto his head as they descended the stairs.

"Oh, look at you two! Out for a night on the town, you look fantastic!" June gushed as they reached the great room. She got to her feet and smiled indulgently at Neal.

"You look almost as good as Byron did in that suit." She gave him a hug and he kissed her cheek, smiling widely.

"And look at you, Miss Pearce! Those shoes are fantastic! But your outfit is missing something..." June mused, her eyes lingering at Amelia's throat.

"Stay right there, I'll be back." June took off up the stairs before Amelia could open her mouth to object.

"Told you she'd have something." Neal whispered to her, taking a seat on the piano bench and running his fingers over the keys, playing a few bars of 'I've Got You Under My Skin' almost absent-mindedly, Amelia humming along without really noticing.

"This will look fantastic with your skin – and they're amethysts, so they'll match those gorgeous shoes!" June announced from halfway down the stairs, a silver necklace held aloft.

"Oh, June, no, I can't-"

"Uh huh, that's what Neal said when I told him I had an empty guest room. Lift up your hair." June instructed, and Amelia knew better than to argue with a woman like June, she turned around and scooped up her curls, sweeping them to one side as June secured the necklace.

It was simple and stunning, a long, thick silver chain with an oval pendant hanging from it- an amethyst the size of a pigeon's egg surrounded by two dozen diamonds.

"Perfect. And here's your car – have fun you two!" June hustled them out the door as Amelia got herself tongue-tied trying to thank her profusely enough for the piece of jewellery adorning her throat.

"Hush, it looks amazing and I never get a chance to wear it. See you for breakfast, Neal, Amelia." June gave Amelia a knowing look as Neal skipped down the front steps and held the back door of the Taurus open – it wasn't until she'd slid onto the seat that Amelia realised who her chauffeur was.

"Peter?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Hey, Mellie." Peter twisted in his seat to smile at his passengers, Elizabeth mirrored his actions from the passenger seat, grinning, too.

"You're driving us?"  
"Hey, it's cheaper than cabs from Brooklyn." Peter told them, checking his blind spot and pulling out into the traffic coming up Riverside.  
"That is true." Neal observed, dropping his hat onto his knee. "So, everything's under control?" he asked Elizabeth.  
"Neal, think about who you're talking to."  
"I withdraw the question."  
"Can I ask you where we're going?" Amelia ventured.  
"No." Peter told her, leaving no room for argument. They were heading north up Riverside and a comfortable silence fell in the car as they turned right onto West 110th st, heading across the island towards Central Park.

"You know, it's pretty roomy back here." Neal commented. "I've never noticed before."  
"Keep your seatbelt on, Casanova." Peter commented dryly. Neal grinned at Amelia and reached over nonchalantly, placing his right hand on her knee and giving it a squeeze.  
"Has Peter ever invited you back here, Elle? There's plenty of space." He allowed his hand to drift slightly higher on Amelia's knee, just outside of Peter's peripheral vision while he was concentrating on the road.  
"I never really noticed how much space there was in the back seat." Elizabeth commented, stifling a giggle. "But I suppose since we're not teenagers we never really had cause to consider it."  
"Oh, never underestimate the romantic undertones that a spontaneous back-seat tangle can portray." Neal told her. "I bet that Peter picked this car just because this back seat is wide enough for him to fit-"  
"Caffrey, one more word and I'm sending you back to prison." Peter interrupted, making Neal smile.  
"You know, that's starting to get a little old, Peter."  
"I don't think I'll ever get tired of it." Peter assured him, shooting a smile at Elizabeth while they were paused at a stop-light. Amelia saw his gaze drop to where Neal's hand was planted about an inch below the hem of her dress, and saw the corner of his mouth tighten a little before he returned his attention to the road, and Neal changed the subject.  
"Central Park? At this time of year?" Neal asked, looking out his window at the landmarks they were passing.  
"Ask any more questions and you'll be left at the edge of your radius to walk home, without dinner." Elizabeth told him, glancing over her shoulder at the pair of them with a half-smile. "But in the meantime, you can help me with something. Take off that tie."  
"Elle?" Neal's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion, after all, he'd been joking about the whole 'romp in the back-seat' thing. Well, mostly joking.  
"We're blindfolding Amelia and Peter's driving, so we can't use his tie."  
Neal groaned in protest, but after a stern look from Elizabeth he did as he was told, tugging his tie loose and handing it to Mellie while he undid the top two buttons on his shirt and rearranged his collar so that it was comfortable.

"Make sure she can't see anything- I want this to be a surprise." Elle told Neal, and he took her at her word, unbuckling his seat belt and scooting over to her. He took the tie back, wrapping it around her head twice, tying it neatly just above her left ear before waving a hand in front of her face to check her vision.

"No, Neal, I can't see anything." Amelia muttered, making Neal smile.  
"Caffrey, get your seatbelt back on, now."  
"Aren't we nearly at our destination?"  
"Yes, we are, but that doesn't matter. Seatbelt. Now."

The Taurus came to a stop outside a tall residential looking building and Neal's phone buzzed.

"Mozzie sends his apologies." Neal announced, reading the text message he'd received while Peter was paying the valet.

"Did you really expect him to come to an FBI party?" Elizabeth asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Not really." Neal conceded, looking down at Amelia.

It was odd, Neal thought, how naked he felt with the top buttons of his pale blue shirt open, no tie around his collar. But it was extremely amusing to watch people's reactions to a grown woman standing on a Manhattan sidewalk with a silk tie wrapped around her face.

"Elle, why do I have to be blindfolded? I haven't been in Manhattan in six years; do you seriously think I'd recognise any place you took me to?" Amelia asked. She knew it was pointless to object, but felt that she should make a token effort if for nothing but appearances.

Truth be told, it wasn't so bad, standing with Neal right behind her, one hand on the small of her back, she could smell his aftershave, from both his tie and his proximity. He'd practically lifted her out of the car, and she'd heard Peter stifle a laugh as he'd brushed her down once she was upright on the sidewalk.

"Come on, we're upstairs." Elle caught Peter by the hand and led the way, Neal following with one arm around Amelia's waist, guiding her past the doorman and over towards the bank of elevators on the far side of the lobby.

Neal had recognised the building and it was only with great restraint that he stopped himself from congratulating Elizabeth out loud- how Mrs Burke had pulled this off with less than 8 hours notice he had no idea, but if Neal was right, the space they were dining in was an exclusive modern art gallery on the building's rooftop that could be hired for private functions- and was usually booked eight to twelve months in advance. Admittedly, as an ex-gallery manager and a highly respected events planner with an FBI agent for a husband there were strings that Elle could pull that not many other people would even be able to reach, but Neal was still impressed.

"There's a step into the elevator, here." Neal kept one hand on Amelia's waist as they rode the forty floors to the space and Neal had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from commenting on the space they stepped into and thus ruining the surprise.

Peter smiled to himself as he surveyed the rooftop- half of the White Collar department had shown up, in the week she had been in the New York office Amelia had made quite a few friends. Everyone was quiet, after all, it was a surprise party, and Elle motioned to Neal to take Mellie's blindfold off once he'd led her into the centre of the crowd.

"Surprise!" Neal slipped his tie away from her eyes in a smooth motion, and the gathered group raised their glasses in her direction. Chatter erupted as everyone greeted the guest of honour, and Amelia lost track of where Peter, Elle and Neal were in the commotion.

After she'd said hello and thank-you to pretty much everyone, Neal sidled up to her armed with a glass of champagne, his tie back in place as if it had never left his collar, giving her his trademark thousand-watt-charm-and-disarm-them smile.

"How do you like your party, Miss Pearce?" he asked as she took a mouthful of her champagne.  
"I'd thank you for it, but I know that this is all Elizabeth's doing."

He smiled at that, mimicking her actions and draining his own glass before offering her his elbow and leading her through the crowd to where Peter and Elizabeth were sitting at a table set for four, overlooking the park at the edge of the rooftop.

Amelia rounded the table to give Elle a hug and thank her profusely while Neal took the seat opposite Peter, snagging another glass of champagne from a passing waiter as Amelia took her seat and the four of them fell into a comfortable conversation about the space they were in while waiting for their dinner to arrive.


	8. Chapter 8

At the end of the night, Peter was careful to drop Amelia off before he took Neal to June's place, making sure that Amelia would be well and truly out to it by the time Neal had a chance to do any scheming. Peter had checked Neal's anklet that afternoon, as he always did if he'd been out of contact with the felon for an extended period, and saw that Neal had spent about an hour in Mellie's apartment that afternoon, barely fifty feet from the end of his leash. Peter didn't like that Neal could be visiting Amelia without an alert sounding.

Nonetheless, he was glad when he caught a glimpse of Mozzie ducking out of sight next to the stoop as he pulled the Taurus up outside June's house, if the little man was visiting then Neal was a lot less likely to go midnight-wandering.

As it was, Neal was a little more than tipsy when he got out of the car. Peter pulled away from the curb as Mozzie emerged from the shadows to help his friend up the stairs, and had to take the keys out of his hand so that they could actually get inside. Mozzie knew that Neal was closer to drunk than tipsy as they approached Neal's apartment - the conman was missing steps and humming a Frank Sinatra song while Mozzie opened the door for him.

"Why do you always have to sing?" Mozzie asked as Neal stumbled over to the couch and flopped down.  
"Why do you always have to quote obscure philosophers?" Neal countered darkly, slurring slightly as Mozzie extracted a bottle of red from the rack, only pulling one glass out of the cupboard, deciding that Neal was drunk enough for the moment. He poured himself a glass and sat down at the dining table, facing Neal and waiting for the inevitable outburst.

It took a few minutes of silent staring and sips of wine in the darkness before Neal broke.

"What the hell is the matter with me, Mozz? She's an FBI agent, dammit!"

"That's never stopped you before."  
"Harmless flirting with undercover agents hardly counts, Mozz. You saw the price-tag on those shoes, who the hell spends that kind of money on a girl he's known two days?"  
"Well, when you first met Kate you ordered five thousand dollars worth of hamburgers to be delivered to an eleven-thousand dollar a night hotel suite."  
"That was different, that was a con and she was in on it."  
"You stole that Matisse after she mentioned how much she loved it."  
"Which we then fenced a month later to finance the bearer bonds that got me caught."  
"You're scared about how much you like this girl, aren't you?" Mozzie asked, shrewd as always. "Because you might just have to become a legitimate money earner in order to impress her properly."  
"Of course I'm scared, Mozz, I didn't think, after Kate..." Neal drifted off, slumping down onto the arm of the sofa and staring into space.

Mozzie knew better than to break the silence, he sipped his wine, watching Neal as his eyebrows drew together in concentration.

"Well it's all pointless speculation, anyway. Peter's acting like her big brother or her Dad or something, he'd sooner send me back to prison than let me be with Amelia."

"You keep reminding yourself of that, and call me before you buy her another five thousand dollar pair of shoes, okay? Maybe I'll be able to talk you out of it. I'll see you later."

Mozzie drained his wine glass, leaving it on the table, empty, and patted Neal on the shoulder as he left the apartment.

Neal wasn't quite as drunk as he'd led Mozzie to believe, although he certainly wasn't sober. He sat up straighter on the couch as Mozzie's footsteps faded away down the stairs, glad that Mozz still couldn't tell when he was pretending to be drunk from when he was actually off his face, and extracted his phone from the inside pocket of his vest to check his messages.

He'd ignored the phone all afternoon, and there were five texts waiting for him to read when he unlocked the keypad - three from Amelia, one from Peter and one, a complete surprise, from Alex. The first two from Mellie had been sent earlier in the afternoon but he'd ignored them, thinking that anything she had sent in a text would likely also be said in person. Out of curiosity, he opened them now and almost regretted not reading them earlier.

The first was from when she'd been out with June's granddaughter, a gushing thank-you for making her go get a massage, extolling the magical properties of the masseuse's hands, a standard response from a woman being pampered at somebody else's expense. The second message surprised him a little, especially when he checked the time-stamp.

"Caffrey, Peter was very, very wrong about you."

The time on the message indicated that it had been sent that afternoon, if his memory was correct, she must have sent him that text message while he was in the shower. He was a little confused - why hadn't she just said that, rather than sending a message from the next room?

He pondered the myserious nature of womankind for a moment before scrolling up to the next message received, the one from Alex.

"Mozzie tells me that this one's pretty. When do I get to meet the girl you're buying shoes for?"

Neal shook his head, laughing to himself, before composing a reply.

"Did he also tell you that she's one of Peter's agents?"

He sent the text into the ether with a grin before opening the one from Peter.

"Do I want to know why you spent forty minutes at Amelia's apartment today?"

The timestamp on that one told Neal that Peter had sent the message just before he'd left the office, and Neal glared down at the tracker on his leg for a moment before deleting the message without replying. Peter hadn't asked again during the party, if he'd really wanted an answer then he would corner Neal at the office tomorrow morning.

The most recent message was, again, from Amelia, and was the reason he'd been singing as Mozzie had led him up the stairs, disguising the sound of the phone vibrating against his ribs. It was also part of the reason Neal had let Mozzie think he was half-hammered, when Neal started with the downer-talk Mozzie usually high-tailed it out of wherever they were- he couldn't stand Neal when he was melancholy and was happy to leave him alone to sleep it off.

The message from Mellie was not exactly what he'd been expecting at close to one AM after a long night of dancing, flirting and good booze, especially after some of the sneaky comments that had been made just barely out of Peter's earshot. But it still made him smile.

"Home safe and sound -sort of. Peter wants me to pick you up at half past six since your place is on my way to the office and he's sick of doing it. He also requested no funny business, whatever that means. X."

He replied as quickly as he could manage.

"Just be aware that I'm rarely out of bed before seven."

He dropped the phone onto his coffee table and stumbled towards his bed as a wave of exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. He toed his shoes off, nudging them under the bed, and tugged his tie loose, hanging it over his mirror. He left the rest of his clothes in a puddle on the floor, the combination of tiredness and alcohol making him not really care about creases as he slid between the cool white sheets in nothing but his black boxer briefs.

..

..

..

..

"Lazy-bones." Amelia punctuated her sentence at six-fifteen the following morning by planting herself on Neal's bed, dislodging him from his cocoon of blankets and waking him up.

Somehow, woken from a deep sleep and wearing nothing but a sheet, Neal still managed to be atriculate.

"Good morning to you, too, Agent Pearce." He smiled up at her from beneath messy hair, rolling onto his back and stretching like a cat, settling after a minute with his fingers laced behind his head, the sheet and blankets having been dislodged enough to slide down his torso and settle just below his navel.

"Good morning, Mr Caffrey. I need you to get out of bed, now, Peter just called me and he wants us in the office ASAP, we've got a new case."  
"Uh huh." Neal didn't move.

"So, get up."  
"No, I don't think I will, just yet." Neal moved too quikly for Amelia to respond, one hand snaking out to catch her around the middle, the other grasping her neck and pulling her bodily down on top of him, silencing her protests with his mouth pressed to hers.

Amelia struggled briefly, mainly out of shock, but once she realised what Neal was up to she allowed herself to relax and went with it, letting him think he was in control for a few minutes. She eventually put a stop to his wandering hands, but not before he'd untucked her shirt and managed to get one hand halfway up her bare back.

She twisted her face gently away from his, making sure to word her objection carefully, appealing to Neal's ego in an effort to get to work on time.

"We really don't have time for you to work your magic this morning, not if you want to properly showcase your skills."

Neal pulled away, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her with a smug grin as she began to rebutton her shirt.

"Are you sure? You've only been here two minutes and I've already unhooked your bra."

Amelia sat up, her right hand scrabbling up her back to discover that yes, her bra was no longer fastened.

"Neal, I am going to strangle you with one of your own goddamn neckties."  
"Promises, promises." Neal reclined on his pillows. "I would have told you before we left, if you hadn't noticed. Do you want this back?" He held up her FBI badge with a smug grin, and it was all Amelia could do to restrain herself from hitting him.

"You-" she snatched her badge back from him, "-are so dead."  
"Oh, really?"  
"Yes, really. Get up, now."  
"Again, with the ordering me around. Anyone would think that you were my boss!"  
"Well, according to Peter, there's a heirachy. Him, Diana, Jones, me, the admin staff, anonymous tipsters, Satchmo then you. So yes, I suppose, I am your boss. Move it!" She stood up and with one swift movement whipped the sheets and blankets off the bed, making Neal let out a rather un-manly squeak as she left him curled up in the middle of the now-bare bed in nothing but his underpants.

"Get in the shower, now, or I'll dump a glass of cold water on you." Amelia told him, striding out onto the terrace where June and her granddaughter were already having coffee, greeting them with a smile and taking the profferred cup from June as she sat down.

Neal came out to join them a few minutes later, smoothing his vest down with one hand and shooting Amelia a dark look as he sat down just out of her reach, pouring himself a coffee and taking a banana out of the fruit bowl.

"What are you two up to, today?" June asked, smiling at the pair of them. She looked at them each in turn and smiled a little as she saw the tension, Neal was guarded around this girl, and she was wary of him, too. But there was something else, June could see it. They liked each other, a lot, and June knew how much fun that could be in its' early stages.

"Peter's got a new case for us." Amelia told her, topping up her cup of coffee. "Apparently a painting that Neal stole a few years ago has turned up in New York."

"Hang on, why didn't he tell me about this?" Neal asked, a little outraged.  
"Well, it's been found in a private gallery – and the only reason we've found it is because a crew we've been watching has hatched a plan to steal it."

"Oh."

"Exactly. So eat your breakfast, we've got a heist to stop."


	9. Chapter 9

Hello darling readers!

NaNoWriMo has been interfering with my fanfic- but I've got 39,543 of 50,000 words written, so I'm feeling pretty damn good about NaNo this year!

I did, however, manage to get this written... and now I'm stuck!

I know, from my own experience reading fanfic that sometimes stories get stagnant and seem to be going nowhere, and that's where I feel like I'm stuck with this.

Any ideas? Challenges? Want me to get Alex to interfere somehow and see a cat-fight? Let me know in the reviews and I'll so my best to incorporate them into the next chapter.

Love! -Anna

CHAPTER 9

"How, exactly, are we supposed to stop an art theft if you're more interested in which of the women you can flirt with than the people we know are planning the heist?" Amelia muttered, keeping her voice low even though he mouth was right at Neal's ear.

"For your information, the waiter directly behind me has the forgery underneath his tray, and they're planning on doing the swap in about seven minutes. The girl in blue is going to create a distraction by setting off the fire alarms just after the curator finishes his speech, and the man with the orange tie," Neal dipped her and she caught a glimpse of a man in a navy suit with a bright orange tie hovering near the fire exit "-is the getaway man, he'll take the painting off the waiter as they leave so that if the staff are detained and searched when the switch is discovered they'll be clean."

"How do you know all this?"

"Because I've pulled this con before."

"Oh, really? And which part did you play?"

"I was the waiter- I'm the only one who was quick enough to switch the paintings in the fifteen-second window."

"What fifteen-second window?"

"When then fire alarm is pulled there's a circuit that gets broken, and there's a fifteen second delay where the security systems attached to the paintings are disabled before the emergency power kicks in. You have to get the painting off the wall and the replacement up, get the original hidden and reattach the security wires in that time."

"Oh, okay. So how are we preventing this one from being taken?"

"We're not."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We're not. That-" he pointed to the twelve-by-fifteen inch Rembrandt hanging on the wall, "-is a forgery that Peter and I put up five days ago."

"Do I want to know how you did that?"

"We asked the curator how embarrassing it would be for his gallery if a Rembrandt was stolen in the middle of a gala, and he agreed that putting a fake in its' place, one with a tracking device embedded in the paint itself, was preferable to having the original stolen."

"So where is the original?"

"Posing as a print in a $10 frame, out in the gift shop."

"Does the curator know that?"

"Of course not, he thinks that it's in the vault down at sub-basement four."

"Neal, what is down in sub-basement four?"

"Another fake."

"Dare I ask why?"

"Because if these people are smart enough to pull this off, then they'll be smart enough to know within hours that the painting they've stolen is a fake, and they'll send another team, probably posing as maintenance or investors, to get the 'real' one from downstairs."

"Have I told you how much of a genius you are?"

"Not in the last ten minutes." He gave her a smug grin and it was all she could do to restrain herself from slapping it off his face, but that would have drawn undue attention to Nicholas Walker and his wife Amelia, a pair of wealthy investors who were attending the gala at the invitation of the curator himself.

"Neal, I am going to cause you some serious pain in the next little while if you don't stop it with the holier than thou attitude."

"Hey, it's smarter than thou, not holier."

"Neal…"

"Okay, I'll be good. It's almost show-time, are you ready?"

"What exactly do I have to do?"

"Trip the waiter up in a few seconds so that he doesn't get to the wall in time, if we're lucky he'll still have the alarm disconnected and we'll get that lovely blaring klaxon that's just so embarrassing."

"You got busted by a klaxon, didn't you."

"In Monaco, it was a nightmare. I had to jump out a third storey window and I landed in a dumpster, completely ruined my suit."

"But you got away?"

"Of course I did. Only one man ever has caught me... and I still maintain that I practically turned myself in to him."

"Peter."

"Precisely- and even that took three years, and he caught me on bond forgery because I got cocky."

"That reminds me, how exactly did Peter catch you?"

"He hasn't told you that story?"

"Not yet."

"Well it'll have to wait for another day... it's showtime, Mrs Walker."

The curator had stepped up to the podium, making his speech about how much he loved his donors and how the gallery wouldn't even exist without them, sucking up so much that Amelia could almost hear the vacuum noises.

The big reveal was moments away, and everybody else in the room was watching the curator. Neal, on the other hand, had his eyes on the three people who were still moving through the crowd- the waiter, the girl in the blue dress and the man near the exit, who was himself watching the waiter and ignoring the crowd.

The moment happened so fast that Amelia almost missed it - the curator whipped the sheet off the sculpture that was the museum's new centerpiece, and amid the gasps and cheering of the crowd there was a piercing wail as an alarm began to sound - there was smoke billowing out from an adjoining room and people began to panic, not sure what was going on. There was a good minute where movement and smoke obscured the entire room from Amelia's view and she was suddenly aware that Neal was no longer right next to her - he'd vanished as soon as the smoke alarm had gone off and Amelia had no idea what her next move was supposed to be.

Suddenly, Neal was back with her, sliding one arm around her waist and guiding her through the panicked crowd, they descended the emergency stairs that the man in the suit had been hovering near and emerged in a deserted alley.

Neal swore, just once, very loudly and Amelia was impressed that he knew that word in Italian - it had taken a drunken cousin to tell her what it mean after she'd heard her father shouting it in the back garden having run over a rosebush with the line-trimmer.

Amelia extracted her phone and dialed Peter's number to let him know that they'd lost the painting - or at least, lost physical sight of it, and that he'd need to check the GPS tracker to find where it had been moved to. Neal was still swearing in the background, switching languages and going from one vulgarity to another, a few of them making Amelia's eyebrows rise as she spoke to Peter, not really listening to Neal as he kicked pieces of trash around and tugged at his tie, frustrated with himself.

By the time she was finished talking to Peter Neal had run out of foreign languages and was cursing in English as he punted an empty soda can towards the other end of the alley.

"Peter said that the trace is active, and they know where the painting is, so you can stop swearing, now."


	10. Chapter 10

Without being entirely clear on why it happened, Amelia ended up taking Neal to her apartment for the night.

Peter had muttered something about maintaining their cover in the event that any of the thieves were clever enough to discern that there was something odd about a woman in an evening gown chasing them through darkened corridors and into an alley before giving her a wry smile and Neal a look that could have melted a plastic flower.

Neal had just smiled and held open the door of a cab, motioning for her to get in with a grin in Peter's direction.

'I can sleep on the sofa, if you'd prefer.' He told her when they got to the apartment.

'Don't be idiotic; it's a two-seater and you'd wake up looking like a mangled coat-hanger.'

He laughed at that and wandered off towards the bedroom while Amelia took her shoes off, arranging them in their box and returning it to it's shelf in the hall closet before following the scent of Neal's cologne through the apartment and into the master bedroom.

He was, naturally, sprawled across the entire bed. From what Amelia could see he had sat down on one side of the bed (opposite to the side she slept on) and taken one shoe off before falling backwards onto the covers and 'passing out' with one arm flung across the rest of the mattress… and the foot still wearing a shoe was still planted on the floor.

Amelia sighed as she unzipped her dress, thankful that the zipper was at the side rather than down the back, and hung it up next to her closet, ready to be dry-cleaned.

She was stepping out of the bathroom a few minutes later, having washed her hair and changed into a pair of shortie-pyjamas, when she realised that Neal wasn't as asleep as he first appeared – his eyes had been half-open when she walked in and she caught the barest hint of movement as they slammed shut when she crossed the threshold back into the bedroom.

'I know you're not asleep. Take your damn shoe off or you'll get mud on my sheets.'

He ignored her; the only sign that he'd even heard her speak was a slight twitching of his mouth.

'I'm not undressing you, Neal, so you can stop playing possum.'

She rounded the bed and turned down her side of the covers, sliding into the bed and rolling so that she was facing him, watching as his eyebrows knitted together while he considered his options.

It took him so long to realise that she was serious that Amelia was half-asleep when he finally sat up to finish taking his suit off.

'Told you.' She muttered, sleepy but triumphant.

'You know, you're very mean. I could have slept in this suit and completely ruined it.'

'Oh come on, you've got a genius dry-cleaner who can make a Sears suit look like a Devore.'

'This is true.' He conceded, standing up to shrug out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair and folding his pants neatly, placing them on the seat of the same chair and tucking his shoes underneath it. His tie got draped over the neck of the jacket, but his shirt was thrown into Amelia's laundry hamper before he clambered back into bed wearing just his boxer-briefs.

..

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The following morning Amelia had to swallow a fair amount of panic when she woke up with someone cuddling her.

It was a completely foreign concept for her – not one of her exes had been a cuddler, and during her time in the Air Force she had rarely slept in anything other than a twin cot. In the few seconds immediately after regaining consciousness she forgot where she was for a moment, not recognising her own apartment for a moment before she realised that somebody was spooning her and full-blown combat mode set in.

Thankfully, part of her combat training involved assessing the perceived dangers and threats before eliminating them, so Neal wasn't thrown bodily onto the floor before he'd even woken up. In the five seconds it took for her to analyse the situation the memories of the night before came back to her and Amelia realised that it must have been Neal who was snuggling into her at five-thirty AM on a Saturday.

Rolling slowly onto her back Amelia looked over at Neal's sleeping form. Even when he was unconscious he still had a half-smile on his face, like he was dreaming about some amazing con he had pulled, or some fantastic artwork he had forged and replaced the original with. As she moved he murmured in his sleep, not actual words just noises, but his arm didn't move from its' position around her middle, and when her shoulder connected softly with his jaw he simply nuzzled into it before sighing and dropping back into a deeper sleep.

Smiling, she allowed herself to drift off again, to hell with her morning run – it was a weekend after all, and she was going to sleep in.

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The next time Amelia woke up she was alone in the bed, and Neal's side of it was cold… but that wasn't what had woken her.

She could smell bacon.

'Where did you get bacon?' she called from the bedroom, stretching and turning her head to look at her digital clock -7:45- the latest she had slept in since she'd recovered from her jet-lag coming from the Middle East back to the States.

"I am a resourceful and intelligent man."

"You called in a favour?"

"I stole a pair of pants."

"What!" Amelia leapt out of bed and bolted into the kitchen to discover Neal standing in her kitchen in a pair of desert-camo BDU pants and a plain white t-shirt – both of which she recognised as standard-unisex-issue, unwashed and freshly extracted from their packaging.

"How the hell did you get those? They were in a footlocker secured with a padlock the size of my fist!"

"Never, ever underestimate my lock-picking abilities. I opened that, too." He pointed over her shoulder to the large picture window in her dining space that overlooked the neighbours' kitchen garden. It was standing open, letting in a morning breeze.

"You got that open? The landlord said it hadn't been opened in ten years!"

"Again, with underestimating my lock-picking abilities..." he muttered, flipping the bacon in the pan.

"The last owners had three locksmiths look try and open this thing." Amelia said, half to herself, crossing the room and sitting down on the window-seat to gaze down at the kitchen garden, marvelling at the fact that she finally had some kind of outdoor space in her apartment.

"You know that you look ridiculous, right?" Amelia asked over her shoulder, looking him up and down and trying to suppress a smile at how ridiculous he looked in BDU.

"I would have worn my suit pants, but they're completely creased, besides, these are actually pretty comfortable."

"What shoes did you wear?"

"I hijacked a pair of your flip-flops." he pointed with the skillet at a pair of plain black Havianas – they were a bit small, but I got there and back."

"It is so surreal that we wear the same size BDU." Amelia marvelled, looking at him as he served their breakfast up.

"Breakfast!" He proclaimed, picking up the two fully loaded plates and coming around the bench to join Amelia on the window seat with spinach, poached eggs and fried bacon on sourdough toast.

"I'm impressed, Mr Caffrey." Amelia scooped up some wilted spinach and tasted it. "Coffee?"

"Will be ready in a few minutes."

They ate their breakfast in a comfortable silence, looking out through the newly-opened window and enjoying the light breeze as it floated in.

The only thing that disturbed them was the sudden, shrill ringing of Amelia's cell phone.

"No! Neal! Give me the phone or I'll drop you to the tiles!" Amelia grabbed the handset away from the con-man while he tried to catch a glimpse of the caller ID, pressing a hand to his chest as she answered the call.

"Peter! Good morning!"  
"We've got the painting, or at least, we've located the GPS tracker that we embedded into it."

"Where?"

"It's out in the Bronx – in a warehouse that was condemned two years ago and is due to be demolished in a month, on the twenty-first."

Amelia had put the phone on speaker when Peter had mentioned the painting, setting it down on the table between them so that Neal would be able to put in his two cents.

"That's genius, if the place has been abandoned that long, they'll only do a cursory check before the blow it up, and evidence will be completely destroyed."

"You sound impressed, Neal." Amelia commented.

"Hey, I'm allowed to be impressed by a good idea." Neal defended himself, while Amelia smiled.

"What are we going to do about it? The GPS doesn't give up probable cause to crash into the warehouse, even if it is supposedly condemned and prepped for destruction."

"Officially we're not doing anything until tomorrow – we've been instructed to leave the case alone, unless the painting moves we're all taking the day off." Peter told them, his voice tinny through the small speaker.

Neal and Amelia looked at each other, equally confused.

"Day off?" Amelia asked.

"Since when do we get a day off in the middle of a case?" Neal demanded.

"Since Hughes ordered it – so enjoy the day." Peter terminated the call, just as Neal opened his mouth with another question ready.

"Apparently we've got the day off." Amelia said, returning to her breakfast after turning the phone off, spearing a piece of egg with her fork.

"Peter never gives me a day off." Neal muttered, slowly walking back towards the window seat to join her.

"You heard him, Hughes ordered this. Quit questioning a piece of good fortune and enjoy it."

"How are you so positive?"

"Spend your birthday extracting Australian soldiers from an overrun outpost in a helicopter being fired on by insurgents and you really learn to appreciate the little things. Especially when the soldiers find out that it's your birthday and try to brighten the day up by singing you Happy Birthday a capella."

Neal paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, looking across at the girl who was eating breakfast next to him and, perhaps for the first time, really appreciated how wildly different their lives had been.

"That really happened?"  
"I was part of the joint taskforce. I got to work with soldiers from all over the planet."

"So you spent the last five years in the Middle East, while I was in prison?"  
"Yes. You know this, Neal, we've discussed my military history, in depth."  
"I know, but it's really only just hitting me, now. It's weird to think of how different our paths have been, to get to virtually the same place."

Amelia pondered this for a moment, chewing slowly on her eggs before responding.

"You have a good point there. Who'd have thought that two people from such different backgrounds could be connected by someone like Peter?"


	11. Chapter 11

"So, what do you usually do on your days off?" Neal asked, spearing the last piece of bacon on his plate.

"Um, that's a great question." Amelia pondered as she finished her eggs.  
"How come?"  
"Well, I haven't had a day off in a while."  
"How long is a while?" Neal took both of their plates into the kitchen, dropping them into the sink full of bubbles while Amelia continued to enjoy the breeze.  
"Um, well, in this country? About four years. What is there to do in New York on a Saturday?"

Neal actually stifled a laugh at that.

"How about we go back to my apartment so that I can get out of these clothes and into something more comfortable, we can go to the park and find something to do."  
"What should I wear?"  
"Something comfortable, I might even be breaking out a pair of jeans."  
"You own a pair of jeans?"  
"Hey, they're by Marc Jacobs, and they look amazing with my green shirt."  
"Oh I'm sure they do. Give me a minute, I'm sure that I did get some jeans when I had my spree at Barneys this summer."  
"Okay."

Amelia was sitting on the terrace in skinny-leg jeans and a floaty flower-print top when Neal emerged from his bathroom in a Ralph Lauren t-shirt and a cloud of steam.

"I think we should go to the park. Want a hat?" he asked, picking up his black fedora and a pair of vintage Ray-Bans, offering the fedora to Amelia as he put the sunglasses on.  
"Thanks." She flipped the hat on and they left the apartment. When they got down to Riverside Neal went to hail a cab, making Amelia roll her eyes and turned left, heading down West 107th, leaving Neal on the corner as she walked towards the park.

"Hey!"  
"It's five blocks, come on."  
"We're _walking?"_  
"We're five blocks from the park, yes, we're walking."  
"Can we get a cab at Broadway?"  
"How lazy are you?"  
"I want to go to the southern end of the Park."  
"Of course you do. Come on, we'll get a cab when I get sick of your whining."

They got to the Ben & Jerry's at Broadway and 104th before Neal complained loudly enough for Amelia to care, and even then she simply silenced him with a double-scoop of vanilla ice-cream in a waffle cone and kept him walking along 104th until they reached the park.

"Okay, where do you want us to go?"  
"West 81st, Shakespeare In The Park is on today – they're performing the Merchant of Venice down at the Delacorte and I happen to know a person who can get us tickets."  
"Is that near the castle?"  
"It's behind Belvedere Castle, yes. Why?"  
"I've always wanted to go to the Central Park castle."  
"Well, we better get a cab, then, my feet are killing me."  
"Of course they are, you never walk more than a few blocks in them, what do you expect?"

Neal rolled his eyes, holding a hand out and a cab rolled to a stop beside them.

They got out of the cab at West 81st, Neal handed the driver twice the fare with his trademark disarming smile, and walked along the path towards the castle, a crowd of people milling around the outside of the ampitheatre below it.

"How can you get tickets to this? Doesn't Shakespeare in the Park usually sell out?"  
"Don't worry, I'll get us in. I know a guy."  
"Of course you do. When does the show start?"

Neal checked his watch. "In an hour or so."  
"Great. Where's the ladies' room?"  
"There's one inside the castle, meet me at the main entrance in twenty minutes, I'll have tickets and coffee."  
"Okay, you've got your cell on you, just in case I get lost?"  
"Yes, I do. Call me if you can't find anything."  
"I will."

Before she could react Neal had caught Mellie around the waist, pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing her deeply. When he finally let go he grinned at her expression and it was all she could do to stop herself from slapping him.

"Got to keep our cover." he told her, arms still wrapped around her.  
"You're lucky we're in a public place." she muttered, pinching the soft part of his upper arm and making him wince through his cheesy grin.  
"I know. See you at the box office." He let her go with another smile and Amelia had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud at his audacity, but he was right, sort of. There might be somebody watching them to make sure they were actually a couple, but it was equally likely that an FBI surveillance team had lenses on them, too.

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Half an hour later, standing outside the box office with two coffees and fifth-row tickets, Neal decided that Mellie had probably gotten lost and it was time to call her.

When the phone rang out to voicemail twice in a row, he began to get worried, but squashed the paranoid thoughts with the self-ressurance that Amelia was a soldier who had just finished FBI training and had probably just got caught up looking at the current exhibition in the castle.

Another ten minutes passed, and after three more calls went to voicemail, Neal admitted defeat and dialled Peter's home number, panic rising in his throat like bile.

"What do you mean, she's missing?"  
"I mean we're in Central Park and she went to the bathroom and didn't come back."  
"Have you called her?"  
"No, Peter, I just stood here at the box office and shouted her name. It's ringing out to voicemail, I've called five times and got nothing."  
"Box office?"  
"We were going to see the Merchant of Venice - Shakespeare in the Park?"  
"Right. Look, I'll be there in twenty minutes, keep your phone on and start looking for her. Can you call anyone?"  
"I'll call Mozzie, he should be nearby."  
"Good. I'll call you when I get to the park."

Neal's phone rang just a few moments after he hung up from Peter – it was a blocked number, but he answered it, anyway.

"Hello?"  
"Hello, Mr Walker. We have your wife. Don't move, and don't go making any more calls to your FBI friends. We'll call you in an hour with further instructions."  
"What? Who is this?"  
"My name isn't important, Nick, all you need to know is that we have her and we know that you have something that we want in exchange. We will send proof of life when we have been reassured that you are not going to involve those tiresome agents."

The phone went dead and Neal stared at it, not entirely sure what to think.

Ignoring the warning from the voice on the phone, he dialled Peter's number straight away.

"Someone has Mellie?" Neal could hear the panic in Peter's voice and was painfully aware that it was probably mirrored in his own.  
"Yes. The voice was male, about your age, with an accent, British or possibly Australian, I couldn't really tell."  
"Did they tell you where she was? Anything?"  
"No, nothing."  
"Get to the office."  
"Peter, they said not to involve you!"  
"Oh, and you're going to listen to a kidnapper instead of me?"  
"When Amelia's life may be at stake, yes!"  
"Fine. Where can we meet? We need to figure this out."  
"I'll call Mozzie, he'll have a place. Plain clothes, Peter, your suits mark you as a Fed better than your badge does."  
"Fine."


	12. Chapter 12

Amelia opened her eyes, slowly, observing her surroundings from beneath her eyelashes. Her training had kicked in the moment she had felt someone grab her shoulder as she exited the ladies' bathroom at the castle, but five men versus one woman, no matter the Quantico and Air Force training, is never a fair fight, especially when a syringe of a paralytic drug is involved.

They were well organized; surrounding her as she lost her ability to move, bundling her into a van nearby and dropping a black pillowcase over her head as they did.

As she surveyed the room her stomach sank – the pillowcase had been removed, and the man sitting across from her was nonchalantly reading a newspaper, his gun was sitting on a nearby oil drum next to a cup of coffee, barrel pointed towards her.

She noted with some disconcertion that there was a silencer on the end of it, and that his face wasn't covered, which meant he didn't expect Amelia to live long enough to identify him as her captor.

Opening her eyes properly, Amelia took almost a full minute to survey her surroundings, knowing that it might well give her an advantage that could save her life.

Wherever they were, there was a subway stop nearby, as she'd been woken by the screeching of a train's brakes. The room had no windows, and the only door was on the other side of the lump of muscle guarding her.

The roof was glass, but that afforded no assistance to nailing down her location – all she could see was plain blue sky and one wisp of cloud through the grimy panes. Moving her hands, she resigned herself to the fact that the men who had taken her were professionals – she had not one, but two pairs of handcuffs around her wrists – one on each forearm securing her to the steel chair that was digging into the back of her legs. She could have easily slipped them, but they were positioned in such a way that she would make a heck of a lot of noise if she tried it.

She wondered if, in addition to the men who had taken her, had the FBI also been watching her and Neal as they'd walked through the park, or had the cab zigzagged enough through the traffic to lose them. Then again, if they'd managed to track them to the park then they would have stormed this dingy warehouse by now.

She rattled the cuffs experimentally, and the guard looked up, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Don't make me put zip-ties on ya." He grunted, shaking his newspaper and returning to his article.

Amelia grimaced and looked back up at the sky, trying to breathe deeply and not think about the position she was in. It didn't work very well, but the fact that she could see sky gave her a feeling in her soul that was something akin to hope.

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As it eventuated, Mozzie's had a solid suggestion for a place to meet somewhere they would be unlikely to be subjected to surveillance, not far from where Amelia had been taken, off 81st street in a sixth floor walk-up above a Chinese restaurant about a block and a half from the park.

Neal refused to leave the entrance to the theatre, making Peter grind his teeth in frustration.

"Neal, we have to get a trace on your phone!"

"I could give a damn, Peter. They said to stay here, I'm staying here. I've got coffee and a bagel and when they call back I'll come meet you at Friday." He hung up in Peter's ear and Elizabeth rose an eyebrow at the curse that Agent Burke let fly when the line went dead. They'd been halfway up the stairs to Friday when Peter had called Neal, demanding to know where he was, and to say Peter was unimpressed that Neal was co-operating with the kidnappers was something of an understatement.

True to their word, Neal's phone rang exactly one hour later, and the first words the voice said were accusing.

"You called someone, Mr Walker. Twice. Then someone called you back."

"Yes." Neal said, keeping his voice level. "Was I not supposed to call anyone, or answer my phone when it rang?"

The voice laughed. "As long as we don't see any agents, you can make as many calls as you like, Mr Walker."

"Good to know."  
"You are aware of the piece of art we are interested in?"  
"The Rembrandt. You stole that last night."

"No, we took a copy, then you and your wife followed us. We know you're not with the Bureau; not with that device on your leg. Who hired you to watch the painting?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss my employers."  
"Do you have the real painting?"  
"I can get to it. Why?"  
"Because we are willing to make an exchange; that painting for your wife."  
"Where and when?"  
"Tonight – in front of the Federal Building on Lafayette at six PM. Bring the painting, come alone, and we will pick you up to make the exchange."  
"How will I know who I'm meeting?"  
"We'll find you, Mr Walker. Don't be late."

The line went dead, and Neal stared at the handset, gripping it tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. He looked around the area, trying to catch someone watching him, but gave up within a few minutes and headed for Friday.

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"Alex? What are you doing here?" Peter asked as he closed the door of the sparsely furnished apartment behind him. There were three lawn chairs in the middle of the space, and Alex was sitting on one, her feet propped on another while Mozzie was at the window, surveying the street below.

"Hello Peter, nice to see you, too. You must be Elizabeth." Alex got to her feet and extended a hand towards Mrs Burke, who raised an eyebrow in Peter's direction.

"Yes, I am, Alex, was it?"

Alex smiled and released Elizabeth's hand, turned and greeted Peter.

"What's going on? Mozzie won't tell me anything."  
"Amelia's been kidnapped." Elle put in, but got a blank look from Alex.  
"I don't know who that is." Alex deadpanned.  
"She's my new probie, and if Neal isn't here in the next ten minutes I'm calling Hughes to report her missing."  
"Don't call the cavalry just yet – Neal's right outside, he'll be up here in a minute." Mozzie put in from his position on the window-ledge.

"So they want the Rembrandt. What the hell is it about this painting? You stole it-"  
"Allegedly." Neal interjected automatically.  
"Allegedly stole it, then it turned up in that private collection and got donated to the museum when the owner died, and on opening night these guys are trying to take it."  
"Did we have anyone check out the warehouse that the GPS led to?"  
"Not yet – Hughes assigned a team to watch the place, but unless it moves they won't be doing much more than basic surveillance."

Neal sighed, and realised that he was out of options.

"We're going to have to call the Bureau, aren't we?"  
"Hughes is going to be furious that I didn't tell him sooner." Peter pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial. "Bear in mind, Neal, I'm blaming you – Reese? It's Peter. Neal just called me – Amelia's been kidnapped."

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To say that Hughes was unhappy was possibly the understatement of the decade. The fact that a brand-new agent had been kidnapped during a high-profile investigation, on a mandated day off no less, made him want to decapitate someone.

"We know where the copy is. We also know who's involved in the heist, and their current locations. I'm mobilising three teams and we're going straight to the GPS locator, I want to stop this before it gets out of hand."

Neal was affronted that his ideas were being rejected – he had suggested taking another fake to the exchange but Hughes had vetoed that, declaring it too dangerous and pointing out the FBI policy of not negotiating with kidnappers.

Both Neal and Peter were less than enthusiastic about the current plan, but they both knew it was the best option, moving forward, so rather than arguing they each decided to simply make the best of what was a very bad situation.


End file.
